A Dalliance in Time
by Indieblue
Summary: "There's a familiar metallic smell in the air, it's tangy and the very memory of it makes a ball of dread curl up tightly in her gut. It feels like she's not quite in her body, the soles of her feet itch, her head feels light and woolly, as if it's been stuffed full of cotton." - Remione time travel. Non-canon.
1. A Slip Through Time

**I have been resisting posting the first chapter to this _long_ multi-chaptered time travel story for weeks. WEEKS I tell you.**

 **I am also trying something I haven't really done before. I am writing this all in the present tense, so that just adds a challenge to this story for sure.**

 **I want to get some more chapters of this written before I post anymore, because I tend to write and post, chapter by chapter with my other stories, and until I finish It Was Her Ginger Hair (which is soon done I just have maybe, _maybe_ five chapters left) I don't want to write this story on a regular basis just yet.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **This is for my Remione loving ladies, and ever since I had this idea I knew I wanted to dedicate this story to two of my favourites, Sable (sableunstable) and Lais (laisvega) my loves xxx All of my other Remione ladies know _exactly_ who they are! I love you all! So let's freaking do this.**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

* * *

 **Wednesday, August 19th, 1998**

 **Grimmauld Place**

 **Islington, London, England**

She stares into the piping hot liquid in the hot cup, but she ignores the stinging feeling on her palms; she knows that her skin is most likely a vibrant red now from the heat. She is almost entranced by the way the steam curls and billows from the black liquid. Her coffee is black, with a slight sweet tinge from the two sugars she had plopped into the cup a few minutes ago.

Currently she was sitting on the kitchen counter-mug in hand-noticing that her companions had been addressing her, she tilts her face upwards, light brown eyes darting from one boy to the next. Letting out a soft sigh through her nostrils, she lowers her mug until it is resting against her thighs-feeling the heat through the denim material of her shorts.

"Hermione?" the raven haired boy's eyebrows shoot up, almost disappearing underneath his messy mop, his bright green eyes are shining from behind his round, wire-rimmed glasses. He is twirling a sickle between his fingers, his forearms are resting on the granite counter beside her, bent at the waist as he rests all of his weight on his arms.

"Sorry, Harry, what did you say?" Hermione purses her lips, cocking her head to the side.

"We were just talking about the rubbish Ministry function that Mum wants us to go to," Ron snorts, "since we're ' _war heroes'_ and all that hogwash."

"Thought you enjoyed all the attention, Ronald," Hermione teases lightly.

"It was nice...for the first couple weeks, but blimey Hermione. A bloke can't even go out for a pint before being hounded by a swarm of people," Ron scowls, his ginger hair is cropped close to his head, and there is a bit of a scruff along his cheeks and his jaw, his bright blue eyes are shining with annoyance.

Even sitting on a counter that is almost four feet tall, Ron is still a lot taller than her.

It is just over two months since the war had ended and Voldemort was defeated. At first the initial euphoria was enough to keep the nightmares at bay, but all too quickly they were reminded that getting back to normalcy was going to be a long, arduous road. Slight, sudden noises make them jump, and they always draw their wands and hurriedly turn towards the source of the sound. All too often had they been greeted by a creaking window or one of their close friends heading into the kitchen for a snack.

Their wands are never out of reach, and it isn't unusual to find the golden trio as many like to call them, all sharing a bed. The nightmares that terrorise their dreams skulk back into the shadows and darkness from whence they came when they cling together at night; or at least that's what they like to tell themselves.

Hermione taps her index finger against her wide, white ceramic mug. Something feels off.

"Does anyone else feel weird?" Hermione wonders aloud, glancing from Harry and Ron, who had been joking about one thing or another whilst she was drifting off into thought.

"No, I feel fine," Ron answers after a moment of thought, but his hand is still hovering over his wand that is resting on the counter beside Hermione's thigh.

"Hermione...you look kind of glowy," Harry frowns.

"Glowy?" Hermione asks skeptically, "Harry, that's absurd."

"No, he's right, Hermione, it's like there's this-"

Ron is cut off when the faint, white glowing light that was surrounding Hermione, pulses brightly. He takes a step back, flinching, blinking in shock as spots dance in front of his eyes. Ron grabs ahold of his wand, his other hand fumbling to grab onto Hermione's arm.

"What the hell-" Harry says, eyes squeezing tightly shut.

Hermione blinks blankly, she wasn't seeing this bright light they keep going on about, it wasn't until she looks down at her hands that she notices her skin looks slightly translucent, as if she is fading in and out of existence. She glances to her left and sees that Ron is also undergoing whatever is happening to her. She turns to her right and notices Harry still looks solid.

"Harry!" Hermione cries, spilling some of her coffee on her thigh in her haste to grab onto the raven haired wizard. She barely feels the scalding liquid soak through her jeans, or the way her wand is pressing into her side from her front pocket.

"What's happen-" Harry says, but he is cut off as a bright burst of pure white light erupts from Hermione's abdomen around her bellybutton-a weird tingle scratching incessantly from inside her-engulfing the two boys.

When the light fades, all that is left in the kitchen to indicate that they had even been there at all is a few drops of spilled coffee that are littered to the left of where Hermione had been seated.

* * *

There's a faint buzzing noise and she swears that she hears a whistling sound. Her head is pounding, she can feel her temple pulsing.

She blinks rapidly, but there are small blue spots dancing in front of her eyes, she can see what looks like a thick layer of ash covering the cracked bits of concrete that are scattered on the outskirts the dirt patch.

It makes no sense, there should be dark-stained wooden floors around them, she should be _sitting._ However she's standing upright, and as the spots begin to clear she looks left and right and sees that Harry and Ron look just as out of it as she does.

There's a familiar metallic smell in the air, it's tangy and the very memory of it makes a ball of dread curl up tightly in her gut.

It feels like she's not quite in her body, the soles of her feet itch, her head feels light and woolly, as if it's been stuffed full of cotton.

"Get down!" A voice that she knows all too well yells, pushing her behind them as they throw up a _protego_ , she can sense someone else behind her and the distinct smells of dark magic is clinging to the air around them.

Sharply, she snaps back into her body, her eyes finally coming into focus and she sees that they are in the middle of a crumbling building, huge chunks of broken walls surrounding the dirt below their feet. The ceiling is no longer there, and she feels the cold wind whistling through the building, and a raindrop falls on her cheek.

She can vaguely hear the sound of the ceramic mug breaking apart as it falls from her hand, the hot liquid flying everywhere.

Hermione's instincts kick in, and it's almost as if they're right in the thick of the war again, all too easily do they ward off the attacks that are flying their way. Flashes of multi-coloured light are flying back and forth, and the memories of everyone's deaths are still too fresh, and she sees listless eyes and bloodless faces in her mind as she wards off curse after curse.

Harry and Ron's shoulders are both brushing hers as their backs are all turned to each other, forming a defensive triangle, protecting each other as they have for years.

Hermione spots another mess of raven hair, and she catches a glimpse of _his_ face as he pops up from behind some rubble to fire a curse off into the other direction.

The Death Eaters are letting up, or at least she guesses they have to be Death Eaters from the familiar masks they are wearing. So she gently prods Harry with her elbow and jerks her head in the direction of the wizard she had seen a few moments prior.

"No bloody way," Harry whispers, and she exhales deeply. _No bloody way is right._

Moments later the Death Eaters are all fleeing, their numbers greatly diminished, and Hermione takes a deep breath, and the confusion is back. They simply _can't_ be where... _when_ she thinks they are.

Then Hermione feels a hand wrap around her throat, a wand presses into her side, and out of the corner of her eyes she sees whoever is going to grab Harry freeze in their tracks.

"Fuck, Prongs, he looks just like you."

* * *

 ***broad grin* I am happy with this, are you happy with this?**

 **Love,**

 **Indieblue xxx**

 **P.S. If this is the first thing you've ever read from me, I have plenty of other stories, including two other time travel stories. I am slowly being dragged into rare pair hell, really I am.**


	2. Something Feels Off

**Right! Since this story has gotten such a positive response, and you've all left such lovely comments (I love you all) I'm posting the second chapter :p.**

 **The chapters will vary in length, but other than chapter three (which is a bit short) then the rest of them should be more than 1k words for sure. I have the first four chapters fully written out, and the first three I've self edited. I have yet to acquire a new beta, and I'm still not 100% sure why I haven't gotten a new one. So if you do spot any grammar mistakes etc, feel free to send me a PM :)**

 **XKendroidXTasyfan: I wanted to respond to your review, but you have PM disabled :T, but generally I just want to say you aren't far off in your guesses about the Marauders ages. Canonically James and Lily were 21 when they died, but this is quite a while before that. Thank you for your review though darling xxx**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

* * *

 **Thursday, February 8th, 1979**

Something feels weird. From the moment he wakes up he knows that something is about to shift. Drastically.

He tries to explain it to Sirius when the raven haired wizard comes out of the shower, towel wrapped lowly around his hips, rubbing at his damp locks with a smaller, white towel. _"Maybe we should postpone the mission until tomorrow,"_ Remus had tried to say, but it fell on deaf ears. _"We'll be fine Moony, you worry too much."_

Of course he did, with James and Sirius as his best mates he had to worry, they were constantly reckless and rash, although James had always been easier to reason with. Remus worried about Peter too, their shorter friend was _good_ , he was kind and he always made sure that they had their homework done and they had eaten for the day. Remus didn't want the war to destroy Peter, like he had seen it destroy so many people and families so far, even before they were out of school.

They had protected mostly from the real war until they graduated, then they had been thrust into a cruel, vastly different world. All of the advanced spells that their teachers had tried to teach them in the last couple years at Hogwarts came in handy and most of the time, they were what saved their lives each day.

It was simply meant to be a reconnaissance mission, nothing more, or they never would have sent fresh faced, eager eighteen year olds out by themselves.

They figure out too late that it is an ambush, and before they can blink, it is a fight for their lives. Remus swallows thickly as he hears a shrill cry and a loud thump from across the way where Mary was just hit by a bright orange spell. She is now convulsing on the ground, he can hear her teeth clicking together, even from over here and it makes him wince.

Sweat is gathering on his brow, and he dares not take the time to wipe it away, focusing on throwing curses and shielding himself from the ones being hurled his way.

A single drop of sweat runs from his right temple down his face, and a burst of smells explode into the area, consuming his senses and overshadowing the metallic smell of blood and the sour smell of death.

He glances to his right and he sees three disoriented wix standing in the open, completely vulnerable.

 _Who are they?_ Remus can't determine if the new arrivals are friend or foes, but the air around them is crackling and sizzling with magic.

He tries to keep one eye on them, but they aren't attacking anyone, the girl drops her mug and whips her wand out of her front pocket. Instead their backs hit each other's and they're defending themselves. They're aiming at the people in masks and none of the Order. They also don't look frightened, as most people their age would. They look seasoned, fierce, _dangerous_.

They are dressed strangely, especially for the weather. The girl is in denim shorts, trainers and what looks like a Gryffindor Quidditch jersey, but he can't be certain. Honey brown curls are cascading down her back, creamy white skin, warm brown eyes. He feels a strange pull to her, and he can't quite describe it.

The shorter boy is pale, with a messy mop of raven hair, black wire rimmed glasses, with bright green eyes; and Remus can't help but think that he's seen those eyes before. He's tall, and whilst on the thinner side he looks lithe, and as he shouts a spell, he looks strong and determined. _He looks exactly like James_ , Remus thinks in surprise.

The final member of their group is _tall_ , Remus thinks perhaps he's taller than him, he towers over the female, but as he watches her move he doesn't doubt that she could cut him down if she really wanted. He's got a shock of ginger hair, pale skin, freckles covering him, bright blue eyes and despite being so tall, with such long limbs, he still looks like he could take a few hits and dish them out.

Remus feels another pull and it makes no sense, but it feels scarily like a Pack bond linking him to the raven haired boy.

The two boys are dressed similarly, faded jeans, the taller wearing a navy blue, long-sleeved shirt, and James's doppelganger is wearing a slate grey vest, his arm muscles flexing as he throws spell after spell.

Then the Death Eaters are retreating, and the three wix in the middle of the action stop throwing spells, but they aren't quite relaxed either. Remus feels a harsh tap on his shoulder, and catches a glimpse of shoulder length raven locks and an all black ensemble. _Sirius._ Remus quickly follows after him, and with a nod and a jerk of his chin towards the three wix, Remus understands what his best mate wants.

It happens before he can properly think about it, and next thing he knows they're holding _them_ at wand point. Remus has got a hold of the ginger wizard, and his suspicions were correct; he is taller than Remus, by at least four inches.

Remus can hear movement back behind the rubble and he knows that the others are tending to the wounded. Peter and Dorcas. Mary was dead, and he couldn't remember the names of the other two wix that had joined them on their mission, and it makes him feel wretched. They may die amongst people who don't even know their names.

Then Sirius says the words that change everything. It's not just in Remus's imagination, his best mates see it too.

" _Fuck Prongs. He looks just like you."_


	3. Who Are You?

**HELLO!**

 **This chapter is probably going to be the shortest chapter in this story on a whole. I wanted to focus on this scene, and I felt like the end of this chapter was a nice place to cut it off. Heh.**

 **I'm just so blown away by all the love I've gotten for this story already, thank you all so, so much. I couldn't resist updating after the lovely reviews I got today.**

 **To answer a few people's questions, this story will alternate mainly between Hermione and Remus's POV's. Occasionally I may write a small thing from one of the other character's perspectives, but definitely not as often. Currently the story is going to be more from Remus's point of view.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sableunstable and laisvega. I should also mention that this chapter is for my lovely wifey, Ash-castle.**

* * *

A gentle drizzle is beginning, Remus feels it lightly hitting him, and he looks at his companions and sees that there are tiny, dark spots appearing on their shirts. The water droplets are falling onto James's and his look-alike's glasses, and he can see the small droplets are beginning to gather on the others' skin.

"Who are you?" Remus watches as Sirius grabs the boy that looks startlingly like James by the face. The boy is gazing at Sirius in wonder, and doesn't seem overtly bothered by the fact that Sirius is squishing his face.

"Harry-" The boy begins, but his female companion steps forward, and Remus catches a glance of James on his left as he tightens his grip on the girl.

"Don't tell them your last name," the girl says calmly.

"Why shouldn't he do that, _pet_?" Sirius sneers at the girl, and Remus rolls his eyes. Even when suspicious Sirius couldn't help himself from flirting with pretty girls.

"Because you wouldn't believe us," the girl says, from this angle Remus could tell that her brow is knitted together, however she doesn't look worried. It was almost as if the three of them know _exactly_ who they are.

"Oi, mate. Lupin," the tall, lithe, ginger haired man that Remus is currently holding at wand point grunts, "your grip round my neck is a bit tight." Remus hadn't even noticed that he was squeezing down on the boy's throat, and he immediately loosens his grip.

"How do you know his name?" Sirius's head snaps in the boy's direction, grey eyes sharp and alert.

"Hermione, can we just _bloody_ tell them? They're just getting more agitated with how vague our answers are," the ginger haired boy sighs.

"Ronald," the girl starts, head turning toward him, leaning forward so their eyes meet, "we don't want to mess with the timeline, whatever is going on here, we have to be careful what we tell them."

"Well Hermione, seeing as I don't see the _lovely,_ white light that decided to drop us in the _past_ anywhere, I'm sure it's safe to assume we're stuck here...and just by being here we've changed the future already," Ronald as she called him says sardonically, angling his head in her direction.

"But-"

"Would both of you, please, stop bickering?" Harry snaps from the middle. "Since we don't know how we got here, we may as well introduce ourselves, and get this show on the road." Except his words come out a bit slurred and funny since Sirius still has a firm grasp on his face.

His two companions are silent for a moment before they both nod, "fine," they chorus.

"Right, I'm Hermione Granger," the girl says stiffly, rolling one of her shoulders.

"Ron Weasley, pleasure to make your acquaintance...though we kind of already met…" Ron trails off, and Remus gets the impression that he is probably now lost in thought.

The middle boy takes a deep breath and then says the words that instantly make Remus's blood run cold, because it simply couldn't be possible, "my name is Harry Potter...and we're from the future."

Remus doesn't even get time to properly react before Sirius pulls back his hand and crashes his fist straight into the boy's face.

Harry stumbles back, head tipping upwards as he holds his face, "fuck's sake."

Hermione clearly is not impressed, because she rams her elbow into James's stomach, causing him to loosen his grip-just enough for her to slip out of his grasp-and she raises her wand at Sirius's head.

"I knew you were hot headed in your youth Sirius, but really...punching your Godson in the face?" Hermione tsks.

Remus hears footsteps, and then appearing past a piece of rubble he sees reinforcements-they had probably wondered where they were since this was only meant to be a reconnaissance mission-Kingsley sees the scene, clearly making a rash assumption, and before Remus can tell him not to, a flash of red light flies out of his wand and slams into the curly haired witch.


	4. Headquarters

**HELLO HELLO!**

 **Soooo I thought I would post this chapter for you lovelies a little earlier than I had planned because of all of the amazing reviews you guys have been leaving. After this I've run out of 'ready' chapters so the updates will be a lot less frequent.**

 **If anyone sees any mistakes, spelling or otherwise please feel free to PM me and let me know :")**

 **THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR ALL YOUR REVIEWS AND LOVE XXX**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Vega. My loves xoxo**

 **I also entirely blame Moonnott for Remus with a lip ring.**

* * *

The girl's companions drew their wands to protect themselves after they had seen her fall to the ground, but merely defended themselves as opposed to attacking anyone else. Insisting that they didn't want to cause any trouble, and they would come quietly if everyone stopped _bloody_ attacking each other. Well, it was the ginger haired wizard that had said the last bit, scowling at Kingsley as he knelt beside the curly haired witch.

After that, Kingsley transfigured some rocks into two blindfolds and instructed the two males to put them on.

Now they are back at Order Headquarters, and the three wix have been locked away in a small room upstairs until they can figure out what they are going to do with them.

"How do we know they are who they say they are?" Sirius hisses lowly, sitting down roughly at the table-James, Remus, Peter and McGonagall are all sitting down already. Sirius pretends not to see McGonagall's stern stare.

Minerva has one or two white hairs hiding amongst her inky black hair-which is currently pulled into a low bun that is sitting neatly against her nape. She is wearing midnight blue robes, the trim seemed to be cut from the night sky itself, shimmering as she walked. A pitch black, velvet coat is clasped around her neck, spelled to protect her from rain, wind and the other elements; not to mention keeping off stains and to prevent any permanent damage from inflicting the fabric.

"There's always legilimency," a voice says softly from the open doorway. Remus didn't need to look up, he can smell the lavender and lemon and immediately he knows that it is Dumbledore; Remus stares across the table at James, whose attention is raptly focused on the wizard at the door, Remus however is too busy trying to discern the differences between the boy and James to pay Dumbledore any mind.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore is a dangerous man. Remus knows that most of his friends and colleagues practically worship him and hang off his every word...but he can't see the man for anything more than what he is. A _sweet_ , old man, who does what he think is necessary for the _greater_ good. What is one life compared to hundreds, if not thousands?

Half-moon spectacles, a long, silvery beard that comes down to the bottom of his abdomen, clear blue eyes that often sparkle, a slightly crooked nose, six foot four, towering over most. Albus Dumbledore appears to be a kind, loving man. Remus knows differently. He's seen the other side of Dumbledore. The side that most of his friend's hadn't. The Dumbledore that had asked him-making it _seem_ like a gentle prodding, or a request-that Remus join the Werewolf packs and learn the extent of their involvement with Voldemort.

"Would they agree to that?" Minerva asks, standing up, and moving to greet the Headmaster, the distinct sound of her footsteps filling his ears.

"Why would they have a choice?" Sirius frowns, "plus if they are who they say they are, then they should have no problem agreeing to it."

"Maybe because having someone poking about in your head is highly unpleasant," Remus drawls, angling his head to the right, and meeting the grey eyes of his best mate. Remus sighs softly, catching his lip ring under his top front teeth. "Even if someone as skilled as Dumbledore is doing it."

"How would you know?" Sirius narrows his eyes, "I thought Legilimency didn't work on you since your head is filled with wolfy thoughts."

 _Doesn't mean he hasn't tried,_ Remus thinks internally, but outwardly he says, "that's irrelevant, it doesn't change the fact that allowing someone to access your memories and the most intimate details of your life will be a tad uncomfortable, Pads."

"Fair enough," Sirius grunts, flicking his shoulder length hair over his shoulder.

"I hear that you lost Miss McDonald out there today...I am sorry for your loss," Dumbledore nods at them curtly, a truly grief stricken expression on his face, before he turns on his heel and disappears back through the doorway; McGonagall follows closely behind him, fixing the brim of her pointed, emerald hat as she does. Remus can hear their soft conversation as they walk, but he tunes them out, more focused on the remaining members at the table.

"So what's next?" James asks, intertwined fingers resting on the table in front of him, his eyes boring into the wooden surface.

"We wait," Remus responds softly, tapping his left index finger on the table, his other hand resting limply in his lap.

Remus frowns as he notices even though Sirius and James both nod their agreement; Peter looks like he's broken out into a cold sweat, his pupils are dilated and he almost looks afraid. For the life of him, Remus can't figure out why. He makes a note to pull his friend aside in private later and ask what's troubling him.

 _Now we wait,_ Remus exhales harshly through his nostrils. He'll give Sirius five minutes before he starts pacing.

* * *

Hermione's head is pounding, she can feel her temple throbbing, and she cracks her eyes open a fraction, deciding it is better to not sit up just yet.

"Hermione!" Harry and Ron both exclaim, quickly joining her side. It takes a few moments but she finally manages to sit up, and she holds her head as the small room they're being kept in starts spinning.

The room is dark, and it seems like a storm has set in, at least she that's what she thinks based off of the heavy rain that is sharply hitting the single window in the room. The window is quite large, but she guesses that they probably warded it so they wouldn't be able to get out. Hermione thinks that maybe they could dismantle the wards if they truly wanted to, but banishes the thought as she remembers that they should stay and see this mess through. They didn't have anywhere else to go after all.

The room is small, and the only furniture inside is a oak chair, it's cold and the air smells like pine. Two things that lead her to believe it's either Fall or Winter.

Hermione briefly contemplates the Marauders that they've seen thus far.

Lupin has always been good looking, even as a weary, older wizard. She guessed after she figured out that he was a Werewolf, that being alone for so long and being without a pack had aged him significantly beyond his years. Especially since wizards tended to look much younger than they were since they lived on average for at least one hundred and twenty years.

She hadn't been prepared for this Remus, the lip biting Remus. The sinfully attractive Remus. The Remus who has a silver lip ring on the right side of his mouth, with intense hazel eyes and a long nose, and sandy blonde hair messily tousled on his head. The Remus with supple, _soft_ looking lips, who looks strong, lithe, and powerful even with his figure hidden beneath jumpers and other thick clothing.

James looks almost exactly like Harry, or perhaps Harry looks exactly like James. Time travel made all these muddle together in a messy pile of confusion. James has warm, hazel eyes, though they were hard and cold earlier when he was assessing whether they were a threat or not. His hair is somehow _messier_ than Harry's, an inky mop on top of his head, with square, black framed glasses, pale skin, and thick, dark eyebrows. Harry and his 'father' are definitely attractive wizards.

Sirius. Sirius Orion Black. Hermione doesn't know how she feels about him yet. He's just as rash, and stubborn as she thought he would be. Sirius is arguably the most attractive of the Marauders that she's met so far, but in the end it comes down to personal preference she supposes.

Sirius has shoulder length, raven hair, that he rakes his fingers through to give the wavy hair a bit more of a windswept look. Stormy grey eyes, light brown skin, broad shoulders, and he's _tall._ Not as tall as Remus, but he's only a couple inches shorter than the other wizard. James is almost Sirius's height, but he's the shortest out of their trio of friends. Hermione has yet to see Pettigrew, but she knows he's the shortest of the lot.

Sirius is lean, muscular, and dangerous looking, lots of leather wearing, and he's covered in tattoos.

Hermione can't help but think in those moments, that she would rather a lip biting Remus any day. She's abruptly drawn from her thoughts when Ron calls her name, and she quickly turns to look at him; the throbbing in her head still persisting.

"Harry and I have been talking," Ron gestures between himself and Harry, "and we think that we need to figure out if Pettigrew is a spy yet or not."

"Well…" Hermione winces, the heavy shroud of pain that had previously occupied her skull is now ebbing away. "If we find out first whether there is a spy yet or not, then we can deal with Pettigrew accordingly," Hermione sighs.

"I think we should get Harry to use Legilimency on whoever is going to interrogate him," Ron offers.

"How do you know they'll ask for Harry?"

"They're all fascinated by him, you can tell. They're bound to ask for him. I'm pants at Legilimency, you know that, I can barely manage Occlumency...but you and Harry are brilliant at Legilimency, even if Harry is rubbish at Occlumency."

"You'd think that being a great Legilimens would extend to him being a slightly good Occlumens, but alas, that is not the case," Hermione smiles wryly.

"Hey! They're different okay, and just cause you're good at both…" Harry trails off, crossing his arms over his chest.

"If it wasn't for me, neither of you would have tried to learn either of them when we were on the run," Hermione rolls her eyes, reaching out and grasping both of her boy's hands.

It's only in that moment where she tries to think about _how_ they had gotten here. That white light had emitted from her, _only_ her. _Why_ it had, or _what_ it was, she's not sure she'll ever find out.

Glancing at both of her boys, she's glad that both of them had come into the past with her, she isn't sure what she would have done without them.

"Now what?" Harry asks, sitting back on his haunches, scrunching his nose.

"Now we wait," Hermione says, squeezing their hands gently.

 _Now we wait._

* * *

Almost an hour later-an hour of having to watch Sirius pace back and forth anxiously, and James staring absently at a worn photograph, and Peter nervously gnawing on his bottom lip, refusing to meet any of their gazes-McGonagall comes back. She tells them in a stern tone that Dumbledore is ready for them to bring one of the wix to him in a room they readied down the Hall, and she warns them not to underestimate the wix that they have in holding, to be on their guard.

The Marauders all silently get up, and Remus finds that he doesn't have a chance to ask Peter what's troubling him, since Sirius keeps throwing out theories about who _they_ really are on their way down the narrow, dimly lit corridor. If they aren't the _time travellers_ they claimed they are.

James takes down the wards when they arrive in front of the unmarked, dark wooden door, and wand at the ready, he cautiously opens the door.

"We've been instructed to bring you for questioning. You'll be undergoing Legilimency."

"We thought you would suggest Legilimency," the ginger lad with startling blue eyes says calmly, he is sitting on the ground against the wall in the small room. The bright green eyed boy is sitting backwards on the wooden chair, and the girl with the unruly curls had been pacing impatiently. She is now standing facing the door, arms crossed over her chest.

"You only need to use it on one of us," the witch adds, lifting her chin in a defiant manner, as if daring the Marauders to argue something to the contrary.

"Dumbledore wants him," James jerks his chin in his look-alike's direction.

"No." The girl growls, but then the raven haired boy stands up, sharing a look with his companion and she tilts her head, lips pressing into a thin line. "Harry."

"I'll be fine, Hermione," Harry says reassuringly, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder, before turning back to the Marauders.

"Okay," Harry says, striding to the door, halting in front of them, "lead the way."


	5. Interrogation

**HELLO!**

 **Gosh, all of your lovely reviews and comments have just made me so happy. I feel a little bad since I've been neglecting my other stories, but I haven't had a lot of time to write since I've been so busy. I'm free for the rest of the afternoon/ night, so hopefully I'll be able to make some headway in chapters for my other stories. Dalliance just seems to be writing itself.**

 **Whenever Remus is involved I tend to have a lot of Dumblerage, so just for future reference, I shall most likely have a lot of it at some point writing this story. Just forewarning you. I also want to give everyone a heads up that at some points this story may get a little dark since it will be a war fic for a good while. I will put warnings in the A/N notes at the beginning of the chapters that have anything bad in it when it comes time.**

 **Seriously just thank you all!**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx This chapter is also for my lovelies Calebski, worthfull and Henny xox**

* * *

The Marauders had guided Harry around twists and bends and corners, down stairs and down narrow, dimly lit hallways; until they reached the room where Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley were waiting. Remus and James led the way, and Sirius and Peter were behind Harry. The five wizards entered the previously silent room noisily, bustling in, shoes scuffing the wooden floorboards as they tried to keep an eye on Harry and all get into the room at the same time.

Sirius grabbed Harry's upper arm and led him towards the front where Dumbledore was waiting. That had been a few minutes ago, now the air is tense, so thick it almost feels harder to breathe, and all the persons present in the room are waiting with baited breath to see how everything plays out.

Remus knows everyone is watching Harry-who is sitting in what looks like a highly uncomfortable chair, at the front of the room-however his eyes find themselves locked on Dumbledore.

The gentle looking wizard appears to be very relaxed, a silent confidence in his eyes. Remus realises in that moment that Dumbledore doesn't think anything in the boy's mind can shock him. Dumbledore raises his wand, palm facing upwards, wrist slack.

"Wait," Harry says suddenly. A fierce look in his eyes, "I must warn you, whatever you see you can't unsee. I should also mention that if this isn't a different dimension as Hermione suspects, then we could be altering the future...drastically," Harry says in a grave tone. Remus notes that Harry suddenly appears to age a few years, his face looks weary, as if he has seen unspeakable things, things that haunt him every time he closes his eyes. What could possibly happen in the future, to do that to someone who couldn't be older than them?

Dumbledore's expression still hasn't changed, he is the epitome of cool and collected, he clearly thinks that the boy is exaggerating, but Remus sees a flicker of something he can't quite identify flash in the older wizard's eyes.

"May I proceed now...Mister-"

"Potter, Harry Potter," Harry smiles stiffly-rubbing the back of his neck, his other hand hanging limply between his open legs; in that moment the members that hadn't been present that morning suck in a sharp breath, their suspicions confirmed.

Dumbledore once more raises his wand, and Remus now shifts his attention to Harry. The young wizard's eyes have fluttered closed, and his mouth is set in a thin line.

Remus leans against the wall on his right. The other Marauders and himself are standing a little ways away from the other occupants in the room. Remus doesn't notice that Peter's knees are knocking together, or that he's nervously chewing at the side of his cuticles.

"Bit anti-climatic," Sirius whispers harshly so only the Marauders can hear him, and Remus rolls his eyes.

"I don't think he-" Remus jerks his chin at Harry, "-would agree with you."

"It would be faster if Dumbledore got some memories for the pensieve and showed it to everyone wouldn't it?" James asks, leaning forward, his face right beside Remus's and he can feel James's hot breath dancing across his cheek. His best mate sighs before dropping his head on Remus's shoulder.

 _Then Dumbledore couldn't control who sees what,_ Remus thought wryly. These three teenagers were a fresh variable, one the old man hadn't worked into his plans yet. He couldn't be sure if _they_ would jeopardize his carefully concocted plans or not yet.

It was long, arduous. Sirius slid down the wall ten minutes ago, and is now sitting with his knees to his chest, legs spread apart, hands limp by his sides, and his head thrust back against the wall.

Ten minutes. Twenty. The clock is ticking harshly in Remus's ears, and even Minerva is fighting off boredom and drowsiness. Sirius's soft snores are whistling through the room.

James however doesn't seem any less focused that when Dumbledore started, which is surprising to say the least. He's staring-like a starved man who hasn't seen food in weeks-at the pair of wizards at the front. It then occurs to Remus that _of course_ James would be interested. This boy is possibly his son, whether it's from another dimension as the boy mentioned, or not.

Remus spots Peter over his shoulder as he pries his eyes away from the focused look in James's.

The boy is a shaking mess, how no one else has seen that is astounding. He's wringing his hands together, and Remus sees that his cuticles are bleeding. He's shaking like a leaf in the cold Autumn wind before it falls from its' tree.

Remus feels worry surge up inside him, and he turns to take a step towards his friend when two things happen.

First, Dumbledore gasps loudly and backs away from Harry. Panting heavily, breath shuddering in and out of his mouth, and his right arm is flailing out for him to grasp onto something.

Second, the door blows inward and it falls to the side, off its hinges.

"You didn't leave anyone to guard us, _really_?" a female voice says past the slight dust cloud that has kicked up, and Remus can't resist the tiny smile that touches his lips.

Hermione and Ron step into the room, hands in the air, wands held delicately as to prove they mean no harm. Remus somehow gets the impression that that's more for everyone's peace of mind, than anything else.

"Did you figure out yet if he's the spy or not, Harry?" the curly haired girl asks in a no-nonsense tone. She purses her lips and cocks an eyebrow as she ignores all of the gaping wix-who are frozen in place, no clue what to do as they stare at her in shock.

Harry nods grimly, and before anyone can move or say anything else, Hermione effortlessly slips her wand into her hand properly and she yells, " _incarcerous!_ " Remus's eyes widen as the spell flies in his general direction, before he sees her true target. Peter.


	6. Everyone Remain Calm

**Hello, hello again! I know I updated yesterday, but as Sable was so nice, and lovely I decided to give her another chapter :D I had planned for something else to happen at the end, but decided it was probably best if I left it where I did. I also haven't properly edited through the chapter, so I'm sorry about that.**

 **As always, if you see any grammatical errors, be sure to PM me and let me know :)**

 **Thank you for all your lovely reviews *hearts* love you all!**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **For Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

In the flurry of movement that follows Hermione's attack on Peter, Remus sees one interaction that stands out sharply against the rest of it.

Ron and Hermione's wands are wrenched from their grasp, and they stand there looking slightly irritated, but they don't do anything further.

They both turn to see who has a hold of their wands, and Remus watches as Ron's eyes widen exponentially. Remus follows his line of sight and sees Arthur Weasley. Remus hasn't really interacted with the older man much, aside from a bit of small talk here and there. They are in different stages of their lives, so the number of topics they have to work with are limited. Arthur is married with children, and Remus is only a year out of Hogwarts, with no girlfriend and he doesn't think he will ever want children; if only to keep them from being damned with his curse.

" _Dad_?" Ron says, inadvertently taking a step towards the other redhead. Remus frowns lightly, but then he sees it. Arthur is a bit older, a bit taller, his nose is a bit longer, his face is a bit rounder, he's dressed in a thick woollen sweater, slacks and brown leather shoes, his hairstyle is completely different with his ginger hair falling over his ears, with long bangs that almost get in his eyes; but otherwise they look almost exactly alike.

"I beg your pardon?" Arthur stumbles over his words, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You're Arthur Weasley, right?" Ron asks, eyebrows creeping up his forehead.

"Indeed I am," Arthur responds, eyebrows knitting together, and Remus can hear the sound of Arthur's foot beginning to tap ringing in his ears.

"Bloody hell," Ron whistles, rubbing his head with his right hand, once again looking at Arthur in awe. "Well, certainly wasn't expecting to see you so soon."

" _Enough_!" James yells, huffing, shoulders moving up and down rapidly as he glares at Hermione. "Why the fuck did you attack Peter?" James flings his hand out in Peter's direction, and Remus turns to the left, noticing for the first time that Sirius is kneeling beside the silently sobbing boy, trying to pull the ropes from his body. In fact, it looks like the more Sirius pulls, the tighter the thick ropes get-cutting and rubbing painfully into Peter's skin from the agony filled look on his face.

"You think he's the spy," Remus guesses, astutely from the small smile she shoots his way before her lips curl into a displeased look.

"We _know_ he's the spy," Ron rolls his eyes, as if it should be entirely obvious, and believing anything to the contrary is foolish. "We don't think. We know. We're from the _future_ remember?"

There is a long, tense silence, the only sound is Peter's sobs, Sirius's frustrated grunts and everyone's breathing.

"We could give you the long spiel, but I think providing pensieve memories for everyone should suffice, that way you can all confirm who we are for yourselves" Harry speaks up for the first time since the whole mess began a few minutes ago.

"Are you saying that Dumbledore's word is not enough?" Minerva asks coldly, gesturing to the man who is still rooted in place, eyes darting about frantically at all of them. Remus can't help but think that Dumbledore being anything but calm after going through the boy's mind, can't be a good thing.

"H-How did you know that he was already the spy...that we even had a spy yet?' Dumbledore rasps.

"When you were searching my mind, I was searching yours-" Harry shrugs, upon seeing Dumbledore's eyes widen a fraction he tacks on, "-don't worry, I kept it to recent events, I merely needed to know if there was a spy yet or not. If there was, then I would know it was Pettigrew."

"How do you know it's Peter?" Sirius growls, forgetting his task of freeing Peter for a moment, getting up and storming towards Harry, stopping abruptly in front of him. Before anyone can react, Sirius's wand is out and he yells, " _Legilimens_!"

Remus gasps softly, Sirius isn't thinking straight, he's downright volatile at the moment. He's not a skilled Legilimens either, which means this will be an excruciating process for the boy as Sirius stomps and stumbles naively through his mind.

Remus's suspicions are confirmed when Harry throws back his head in pain, eyes clenched shut, a piercing scream cutting through the room. His body writhes and shakes violently until he's thrust from his chair and he's shifting in agony on the ground.

"NO!" Hermione's heart wrenching cry stabs at the air, and she's struggling against Ron's hold as he prevents her from throwing herself on Sirius; the redhead is making shushing noises and hugging her to him as he looks over her head at his friend with grief and pain, as if it was him on the ground and not Harry.

They can't do anything but wait, wait as Harry screams, as Hermione screams, as Dumbledore watches on with a cold kind of detachment, Minerva shaking Dumbledore's shoulder and begging him to do something, anything.

Time seems to stretch for an eternity, yet it is over in less than a second.

Sirius stumbles backwards, gasping, and wildly looking around, until his eyes fall on Peter. He glances at James briefly, and then he lets out a strangled, broken cry as he charges towards Peter. "You, filthy rat!"

Remus steps into Sirius's path, blocking him from getting to Peter, and swiftly, without hesitation whispers, " _stupefy_."

James looks at Remus with rage as Sirius crumples to the ground, the red spell had knocked him unconscious. Remus sees Hermione and Ron rush to Harry's side in his peripherals.

Remus calmly says, "we need to figure out what's going on, and to remain calm. Sirius was clearly highly emotional, and he would have done something he regrets, _again_ ," Remus says the last word with such force and venom, that it silences James.

"Now does anyone want to clarify what the fuck is going on?" Remus cocks an eyebrow at the room of gaping individuals.

"We know Peter is the spy, we found out in our third year. He was in hiding in his animagus form, he had been for twelve years. He was Ron's rat," Hermione says shakily, fighting back tears.

"There was a prophecy, about someone who could defeat Voldemort-" at the scandalised gasps in the room, Hermione pauses, but she merely scoffs before she continues, "-someone else told Voldemort about it, so Dumbledore insisted that Lily and James be moved to a safe house whilst Lily was still pregnant, as well as Alice and Frank. Both of their sons would fit the prophecy, but Voldemort chose Harry...on October thirty-first in nineteen eighty-one, he made his move. Killing Lily and James, and attempting to kill Harry, but being thwarted. It was how Harry got his scar, it was why Harry was known throughout the wizarding world as its _saviour_."

"Sirius feared that they would come for him, that it would be dangerous having him be the secret keeper...and Remus and him were on speaking terms, not really, he had been away you see-" Hermione's eyes flick up to him then, and he takes in a deep breath when the next few words fall from her lips, "-he was away, in the werewolf packs, under Dumbledore's command."

"So Sirius turned to their only other friend, Peter, the only one he trusted wholly without question."

"They didn't know he was the spy, had been for years, they didn't know that he was going to betray them," Harry chokes out, and Hermione's head flies in his direction, and she's asking him if he's alright before he waves her off.

"Then he framed Sirius for the whole thing, and he went to Azkaban for twelve years," Ron finishes, but then the redhead's eyes widen and he adds casually, "oh, and that's only one part...do you all still think that Dumbledore's word is good enough, or do you want to use the pensieve?"


	7. Potter Manor

**Sable asked, and a new chapter she received. It certainly didn't help that the muse was in a nice mood since I _finally_ got out one of the final chapters for IWHGH today. It's been fighting me for a few weeks, and sadly there isn't much left after this chapter. If anyone's interested it's "It Was Her Ginger Hair" it's my Ginny/ Theo fic and it is my rare pair baby.**

 **Something terribly fun happens in this chapter, or at least I hope it's as fun for everyone else as it is for me.**

 **Thank you all SO, SO much for all your reviews and support. I love you all.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Sable and Lais xxx also Worthfull, you beautiful, beautiful human.**

* * *

The room is thick with silence after Ron's proposal, no one moves, and Remus ignores Peter's soft whimpers.

Minerva clears her throat and then says, "I for one would like to see these memories."

"I agree with Minerva," Mad-Eye grunts, it's the first time he's spoken since he entered the room, and Remus almost forgot he's here, Kingsley is a silent presence beside him, mouth clamped shut.

Mad-Eye has blond, shaggy hair that covers his ears, one clear blue eye and the magical one in place of the eye he had lost a few years back on the job. The magical eye moved in a sporadic fashion, and Remus would watch it more often but staring was rude, grossly so. Moody is buff, his arm muscles make the fabric around his biceps stretch, and his left leg is gone just below his knee, but you can't tell that he has a mechanical replacement since his robes and trousers hide it.

Kingsley is dark skinned, as dark as the night sky itself, with bright white teeth and kind eyes. He tends to only wear the colour purple, and he's quite muscular even though he's just over six feet tall.

"Not now," Dumbledore says firmly, "another day, for now they'll stay at Potter Manor. Until we can decide what else to do," Dumbledore catches James's look and says, "that is final Mister Potter."

"Mum is going to love this," James grumbles under his breath and Remus elbows him when he joins his side.

James shoots him a dirty look, and Remus's ears pick up Harry whispering to Hermione and Ron, "Potter Manor?"

A few moments later and they're all leaving, and Remus overhears Moody telling Minerva, "well until this mess is cleared up, we'll be taking the boy, see if there is any merit to their claims...a spot of Veritaserum should do the trick. We'll keep it hush as well...you know as well as I that there are eyes in the Ministry."

Remus feels a sharp stab of pain prodding and jabbing his heart as he turns his back and walks away from Peter. He sees out of his peripherals that James is levitating Sirius's unconscious body behind him. The trio is following a short distance behind them, and it doesn't take long for them to get out of the house and outside of the apparation boundary.

James sighs before he gruffly grabs a hold of Sirius's floating arm, and Remus also places a hand on Sirius.

Remus turns to his left and he's met with _her_ warm brown eyes, swirling with uncertainty and yet there is an underlying warmth and kindness to them. He takes a deep breath and holds his hand out, gesturing for her to take it.

After a moment she takes it, easily slipping her other into Harry's, who is leaning on Ron.

Remus sucks in deeply through his nostrils, and his senses are filled, consumed by her scent. She smells like caramel and vanilla, and it comforts him, making him feel right at home.

Remus shakes his head as James grunts out that he's about to apparate them out, so to be prepared. Remus doesn't even get a chance to get his wits about him before the nauseating, sucking feeling in his gut hits him, and then, a violent crack strikes the air and the six wix vanish.

* * *

Hermione gasps when they are spat out onto the grass, she stumbles a few steps forward, but a strong tug helps right her once more. She glances at the source of her aid and smiles gratefully at the sandy haired wizard.

She swallows thickly and tries to calm down her heart rate, painfully aware that he can hear it, and for some reason she really, _really_ doesn't want him to know that he is affecting her in any shape and or fashion. _Especially_ when he tucks his bottom lip beneath his teeth or when he plays with his lips ring. It's downright sinful and she's looked away every time she sees him do it; otherwise she knows she'll simply stare at him like a mindless guppy.

Hermione clears her throat and withdraws her hand hurriedly from his large, warm one. Feeling its loss immediately, but she dare not linger a second longer than appropriate for people that had _just_ met.

 _I suppose I have the unfair advantage of knowing about him before all this mess happened,_ Hermione thinks wryly. _Though, if this is a different dimension...no matter how similar it seems to be, then there must be some differences._

Hermione checks on Harry and Ron, and when she sees that they are both in one piece she turns her attention to her surroundings.

A vast, stately manor lays before them, painted white with a red trim snaking around the house. Most of the glass windows are open, and cream curtains are gently blowing out the window with the substantial spot of wind that has picked up. There is a cobblestone path leading past beautifully kept gardens to the front steps, which have black metal rails that follow onto the bannister that surrounds the front porch.

There are all manners of fauna and shrubbery in the gardens, from marigolds to roses and Hermione wonders how they are all in bloom at the same time despite the cold weather.

Her body seems to register the frigid air surrounding them as soon as she thinks about it, and thankfully it isn't raining.

Hermione takes a peek at Harry, and her heart blooms at Harry's awestruck expression. _That's right, he would have grown up here...if not for...well..._ Hermione sobers a bit at the thought and remembers that in this time the War is only now beginning and whether they like it or not, they have been thrust right in the thick of it.

With that morbid thought in mind she follows the Marauders towards the Manor, reaching behind her, and breathing out softly when she feels Harry's hand slip into hers.

 _Well I guess we'll just have to face it together_ , _like always,_ Hermione thinks as her sneakers scuff across the cobblestones.

When they get inside, Hermione sees that it is more elaborate inside, directly in front of the foyer is a grand staircase, with an intricate and massive diamond chandelier glittering in the little light that the day has provided.

She can't see what is left or right of the foyer, but she suspects she'll soon find out.

Hermione stiffens when a small pop sounds in her ears and she sees a wide eyed House Elf peering at all of them. She shakes her head at a soft question James asks her, her ears flopping this way and the next, and she then proceeds to place her hands on her hips and then stomp her left foot.

She shoots James a displeased look as she smooths down the front of her impeccably smooth, white apron that is decorated with a tiny lace trim, and she has a simple white cloth tie on her head, a navy blue dress that had sleeves that come just below her elbows, and exposes her ankles so that you can see her shiny black shoes.

"Well, it seems that Dumbly has asked you to stay without permission, so Mipsy will be sure to give him a good talking to next time he's round," Mipsy says, tutting as she snaps her fingers and Sirius disappears.

"Master Black is in his room," Mipsy nods curtly, and then turns her attention back to all of them.

"Mipsy shall go tell Mistress you are all here, and based on Mistress's instructions Mipsy will ready your rooms or give you some treats and provisions before you go on your way," Mipsy says with a warm smile, and Hermione can't do anything but blink.

Mipsy then disappears with a small pop and a snap.

Ron whistles lowly, "I like Mipsy."

There is an awkward silence as they wait in the foyer, and Ron decides to break the ice.

"Sorry about Pettigrew, I am," Ron says and Remus and James don't say anything, they only stare at the ginger, though at least Remus nods stiffly.

"This place is amazing," Harry murmurs and James finally opens his mouth, brow furrowed.

"What? Have you never been here before?"

"No," Harry shakes his head, enraptured but everything, currently gaping at the chandelier.

"Well where did you grow up then?" Remus asks, and Hermione knows it's an innocent question, but she can't help the growl that rips involuntarily from her throat.

"He grew up in an abusive home, locked under the stairs mostly and detested for simply being a wizard," Hermione snarls, and she sees that the light in Harry's eyes flickers, and she wants to take back everything she's just said but it's too late.

"Hermione…" Harry trails off.

"I'm sorry...just...being honest," Hermione sighs.

"He was raised by Lily's sister and her red faced husband, Vermont or something like that," Ron adds, grimacing.

"Vernon," Harry corrects gently.

"You were raised by Petunia?" James says in horror, and Harry doesn't meet his gaze, but a mocking smile touches his lips.

"Yea, until I went to Hogwarts really, and then I found my true family-" Harry starts, but he's cut off as they hear heels clicking against the light hardwoods.

Appearing around the corner to the right, comes a women with waist length, wavy, black as ink hair, and striking grey eyes. She looks regal, and Hermione almost feels the need to curtsey. Hermione can't tell how old she is, and she can sense the woman's magic from here. She's dangerous, she's powerful but there's a kindness to her as well.

"Mipsy tells me that Dumbledore has sent you to stay with us, without permission of course, but from what I hear one of you looks remarkably like-" the woman halts in what she's saying as she catches sight of Harry. Her mouth falls open in gentle surprise, eyebrows slightly raised, and delight fills her features. "Looks remarkably like James. It seems like the information I got from Minerva in that brief floo call seems to be accurate. Oh, look at you. Your eyes are like Lily's aren't they? I guess that proves that in at least in one dimension my boy was skilled enough to get the girl to marry him."

"Sorry...who are you?" Ron asks after a moment of quiet.

"How terribly rude of me," the woman gasps, walking forward and stopping directly in front of Harry. "My name is Dorea Potter neé Black. Harry's grandmother."

* * *

 **I couldn't help myself. I just needed to have Dorea in the story, okay? Along with a few other choice people.**

 **Love,**

 **Indieblue xxx**


	8. Honesty Is The Best Policy

**Hello! Hello! My wonderful Remione ladies! I feel like I should ask if you missed me, but it's only been like 9 days. I missed you all.**

 **First off...OMG. This story has more than 100 followers as of a couple days ago?! Plus it's one away from 100 reviews?! Insane. Absolutely insane, I'm blown away by all the love I've been getting lately. Especially cause today is Fanfiction writer's appreciation day. Well it is for about eight more minutes. Either way, THANK you all so much! *hearts***

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Sable and for Lais xxx I love you both to bits.**

* * *

 **Flashback**

 **Saturday, January 20th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

"She said and I quote- _'I'll think about it'_?" Sirius gapes at a downtrodden James. James is lying back on his back, holding a bottle of Firewhisky upright on his chest. Unshed tears shining in his eyes.

"She loves me, but she thinks that I'm only asking her because of the war," James groans, grasping the Firewhisky bottle by its neck and swinging his arm out until the bottle is right above his bedside table. After taking a deep breath, he places it on the wooden surface.

"Lily Evans said this? Does she not remember that you proposed marriage to her in the middle of first year after she hexed you for the first time?" Remus snorts.

"Or when he proposed multiple times after that," Sirius adds.

"Well what now?" Remus asks softly, sitting down on the foot of James's bed. Sirius was sitting cross-legged on the floor, chewing on his bottom lip.

"No clue, Moony," James whispers with a trembling gasp, "No clue."

* * *

 **Present**

Dorea merely looks around after she introduced herself a few moments ago.

No one had said anything so instead she decides to continue speaking, "I only meant to tease him, but I suppose the wound is still fresh."

"What happened?" Ron asks curiously, "if you don't mind me asking."

"James proposed to Lily a few days ago, and the stubborn witch that she is, thinks he's only proposing because of the war. She doesn't think he would propose under different circumstances."

Remus snorts. Hermione catches his eye, and Dorea walks over to the boy, grasping his face. "I heard about Peter...how are you doing my sweet Moon?"

"Fine, Mum, as fine as I can be," Remus grimaces.

Dorea pulls him in for a tight hug, and then at that exact moment a man with messy raven hair walks in through the front door, wearing faded jeans, muddy boots and a dirty, sweat stained white shirt and gardening gloves. Closing the door behind him with a soft click, looking guilty as he tracks a trail of mud into the house.

He reaches behind him and grabs his wand from his back pocket, waving it at the mud and at his shoes. Vanishing it all.

Hermione guesses from how similarly James and Harry look to the man before them that he must be Harry's grandfather; Charlus Potter.

Charlus is one of those men that you can't tell how old he is, but he has deeply set smile lines around his mouth and eyes, a strong jaw and a kind look in his eyes, unlike his kin, he isn't wearing glasses, and his hazel eyes are fully on display. There's a light of mischief to him as well, and Hermione thinks that she's going to like Charlus Potter.

"Oh, guests-" Charlus starts warmly before he freezes, the smile on his face fading.

"Dear...why is there a boy that looks exactly like our son in the foyer?"

"The three of them are inter-dimensional time travellers apparently," Dorea shrugs, pulling away from Remus, stroking his cheek before she lets go of him and walks over to Charlus, tightly embracing her husband.

"Anyone wish some tea?" Dorea says brightly.

"Yes please," Hermione says weakly, once again catching Remus's gaze. His eyes are flashing amber and gold and the mere sight makes her toes curl in her shoes and a heat build in her abdomen.

Dorea notes the interaction, lips curling but she merely leads the way to the left to the sun room.

Remus excuses himself, "I'm going to check on Sirius and James."

Hermione frowns slightly at that, unable to stop the ball of disappointment gathering in her stomach, or the way it settles and begins to spread like mad gossip.

Remus continues straight to the grand staircase, and Hermione's heart skips a beat when he glances back over his shoulder. She blinks rapidly as he sends her a small smile, and she quickly turns away. Heart beating in her throat as she sees that Ron and Harry have started after Dorea and Charlus and she hurries after them.

Hermione shakes her head violently as she follows them down the bright, beautiful and well lit corridor, _I need to stop thinking about attractive boys with lip rings and nice mouths,_ Hermione thinks as Remus turning to look back at her flashing behind her eyelids.

* * *

Hermione gazes around the room. It's large, with a couple loveseats and a long couch all facing a coffee table, one wall facing the East is entirely covered in floor to ceiling glass windows. The ceiling is high and the right side of the room has a row of bookshelves-filled to the brim with tomes and texts of all kinds-covering it.

Mipsy walks into the room a silver platter floating after her with a white, china teapot with blue vines crawling across its surface in the middle of it-five teacups were equidistantly surrounding it, a small pitcher of milk, and a tiny pot of sugar were also on the tray.

"Mistress has given permission for you all to stay, but I expect you shall all behave properly whilst you are in this household," Mipsy nods firmly at all of them as she waves her hand and the tray lands delicately on the coffee table.

"Thank you Mipsy, I'll call if we need anything else, I think it's time you took a bit of a break for the day, don't you?" Dorea raises an eyebrow, and Mipsy narrows her eyes, mouth parted slightly in protest. "You've been working since sun up, going and take a nap my dear." Mipsy crosses her arms over her chest before saying in a low whisper, "if Mistress insists." Then with a small pop, she vanishes into thin air.

"Now, why don't you tell us a bit about yourselves," Charlus says cheerily.

Thus it began, Hermione, Ron and Harry regale their tale, all chipping in and embellishing on certain points, they spoke until their throats were dry and their lips were chapped. Hours pass by easily, the sun fades as time wears on, and before they know it it's late into the night and all the torches in the room have been lit.

They leave out _some_ of the finer details, the parts about the horcruxes and deathly hallows they kept to themselves (they had discussed it earlier when they were being held in the small room at Order Headquarters). Certain things need not be shared.

By the time they finish, they've all had at least four cups of tea and Hermione's bladder is threatening to burst-not to mention a dozen treats, and in Ron's case, many, many more.

After several long, pregnant, poignant moments, Charlus looks grim and Dorea looks both sad and irate.

"Dumbledore did nothing to help Sirius?" Dorea asks softly, and Hermione can only nod. She doesn't wish to taint the opinion of her late professor since he was a good man...occasionally, but facts were facts, and when it came to Sirius Black, Dumbledore hadn't lifted a finger-until it was almost too late. Even then, Hermione and Harry had been the ones to do it, once more pawns in his game.

"My word...and the poor boy Regulus, you do intend to help him, don't you?" Dorea says, looking at all of them.

"We hadn't exactly gotten that far, but yes, if we can, we intend to save as many people as we can...though it is imperative that no one tells anyone that we're here, or who we are," Hermione responds, nibbling on her bottom lip. The less people that knew about them, the better.

"Well-"

"Hello?" A loud, friendly voice calls and it echoes around the room, bouncing about and engulfing them. Hermione turns her head towards the door just in time to see a petite, dark red headed girl walk through the door.

"Ah, Lily, you're just in time to meet our guests."

* * *

 **They told Dorea and Charlus essentially everything, I wanted them to ne honest in this fic. At least with the Order members and their loved ones/ would be loved ones.**

 **Also, I am about to have a world of fun with Lily Evans. Let me tell you ;)**

 **Love,**

 **Indieblue xxx**


	9. Lily Evans

**Hello my dears!**

 **So I'm taking a bit of a writing hiatus and I'm going to try and catch up on some reading, so I've banned myself from writing anything besides Dalliance and IWHGH. So you're all in luck. This chapter is the longest one yet, and here's to hoping you all like it. I've tried a slightly different approach to Lily than I normally do, but she's still pretty true to my usual version of her.**

 **I love you all, and thank you all so much for your support, reviews, follows, favourites and love. You are all lovely, lovely people.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for my darling, darling witches Sable and Lais xxx (I can't wait to see your reaction Sable).**

* * *

Somehow Lily Evans is _everything_ and _nothing_ like Hermione had imagined she would be. She exudes sunshine, and her aura draws you in, engulfing you and making you feel like you are the most important thing in the room.

Dark red lipstick on her lips, full dark lashes and bright, almond shaped bright green eyes and a brushing of pale freckles across her nose-it is small and slightly round-her cheekbones are softened by her slightly plump cheeks and her face is ovular, with a strong chin and proud jawline. She is elegant and stunning, and she moves as if the wind is under her feet and swirling around her every movement. She also has a smudge of dirt on her left cheek.

She is wearing black leather ankle boots, black culottes with white pinstripes, an off-white cropped knit sweater with long sleeves that would go all the way to her wrists if she hadn't rolled them up past her elbows; her pale fingers have a bright coppery colour painted on her nails, but it is slightly obscured by the dirty smudges on her hands-thin, delicate silver rings adorn her fingers, and they are too far away for Hermione to see properly. Her long wavy, red velvet hair is cascading over her shoulders and ends just above the small of her back.

"How rude of me, I've interrupted," Lily gasps, fully turning towards them, and Hermione sees that her wand is tucked behind her right ear, and Hermione's eyes widen as she sees the exposed skin just above her high collar on the right side of her neck.

There's a tattoo of a doe, and the part of it that is exposed seems to be looking at them curiously, cocking its' head to the side, the rest of it-below the animal's neck-is hidden by soft grey material. However, if it was exposed, Hermione has a feeling it would be shifting from foot to foot, unsure of itself. The ink seems so life-like Hermione finds herself thinking it could surely spring forth from Lily's skin anytime it wishes.

"No, no dear. These guests were...unforeseen, see-" Dorea hesitates then, pursing her lips as she thinks how to go about this with tact and care, "-see they are inter-dimensional time travellers."

Dorea looks at Lily curiously, as if she's not sure how she'll react.

Lily then steps forward, holding her arms towards her ribs and close to her, and her eyes widen as she looks at them, _properly_ looks at them. "Goodness, he looks exactly like…" Lily trails off, freezing in her tracks.

"Hello," Harry waves, albeit awkwardly and shyly, nervously brushing his bangs in front of his scar-a nervous habit he had picked up, and whenever he felt truly uncomfortable he did it without noticing.

"James," Lily murmurs.

Everyone is incredibly silent, and then Ron sighs, clearly tired of long silences and awkward introductions, "if you're wondering if in our dimension, he's yours and James's son, then yes, you would indeed be quite correct. Now I don't wish to be rude, but I've had too many sweets and a good deal of tea and I really need to use the lavatory," Ron manages with grace and tact that Hermione did not know he was capable of-or rather, he chose not to most of the time, so she had almost forgotten.

"Your rather frank, aren't you?" Lily smirks brightly, and then she turns to Harry, a earnest look on her face, as if she's trying to figure him out.

"As the young man said, so... _eloquently_ , in their dimension, he's your son, my dear," Dorea says with a tinge of amusement and a twist of her lips.

"I suppose that means at least in one dimension I agreed to marry James, doesn't it?" Lily says with a quirk of her eyebrow, dirt smudged hands moving to rest on her hips.

Charlus frowns slightly, but seems to hold his tongue, and Hermione swears she hears Dorea mutter under her breath, "that's what I said."

"I suppose that makes my decision easier then-" Lily sighs heavily through her nostrils, and then looks at Dorea with a serious expression, "-it's the reason for my visit actually."

 _She's taking this all remarkable well,_ Hermione thinks, blinking rapidly at the dark red haired girl.

"You made up your mind then?" Dorea asks calmly, tone light-hearted and carefree, but Hermione is probably the only one that sees her grip her teacup a minute bit tighter as she raises it to her lips and takes a small sip.

"Yes, Missus Potter, I have. I'm afraid you'll be stuck with me for a little while longer, because I've decided to marry your impossible and utterly delightful son," Lily's face breaks out into a broad grin, a row of almost straight white teeth fully on display.

"Oh thank Salazar," Dorea exclaims, hurriedly putting down her cup and walking around the couch, pausing in front of Lily momentarily, before rushing forward and tightly embracing the shorter witch. "You've made me a very, very happy woman my dear. Very, very happy."

When Dorea pulls away, Lily peeks around her future Mother-In-Law, and meets Hermione's gaze, "after I go and find my future husband-because I do hope he'll still have me-I'll be right back, and I'd like to have a chat with all of you...or it can wait until the morning, you do look dreadfully tired after all."

"Over Breakfast I'm sure will work just fine," Ron answers for everyone, and then Lily steps up to the back of the couch, right in front of Harry, and she reaches out cautiously, but she still places her hand on his cheek and Hermione sees Harry tense and relax within moments.

"How weird this must be for you, to be seeing your Mother in her youth, cause I know this is _really_ weird for me," Lily admits honestly. She pauses, and then purses her lips, brow knitting together, "what is your name? I can't believe I haven't gotten it yet, terribly sorry about that, love," Lily says, frowning at her lack of manners.

"Harry. Harry James Potter," Harry says softly, as if his own name is foreign to his own ears.

Lily turns to look at Ron and Hermione then, and Ron smiles brightly before saying, "Ron Weasley, at your service."

"A Weasley? Not Arthur and Molly-"

"Their sixth son," Ron interrupts, and Lily raises an eyebrow, mouth parting slightly in shock.

"Six children, gosh, I can't imagine more than two or maybe three."

"Seven, I have a younger sister, Ginny...well, had…" Ron murmurs the last part softly, as if it hadn't occurred to him that Ginny hadn't been born yet, and in this dimension, if she ever would be.

"Hermione Granger," Hermione supplies in light of the slight damper Ron's last statement had thrown across the room.

"Muggleborn?" Lily asks in a matter-of-fact tone, but it sounds more like a statement than a question, and Hermione nods nonetheless.

"Us witches need to stick together," Lily says then with a light twinkle in her eye, "this has been a bizarre meeting, and I look forward to hearing your story in the morning, but right now I have a messy haired wizard to give an answer to."

Lily drops her hand from Harry's cheek, smiling warmly at all of them before turning on her heel.

"Lily," Dorea calls, stopping the happy witch in her tracks.

"Hmm?" Lily hums, glancing over her shoulder.

"He may be in a sour mood...has anyone told you about Peter?" Dorea asks grimly.

"Peter? No, I haven't heard, Professor McGonagall flooed to let me know about Mary-" heavy grief brushes over her features, the corner of her red lips turning down by the weight of the sorrow she was feeling, "-why? Was he injured?" Lily asks, expression contorting and twisting with worry, fully turning back towards the other occupants of the room.

"Oh. I think James ought to tell you my dear girl, I think you should give him your news first, something to brighten this terribly sad day," Dorea sighs, clasping her hands in front of her. Hermione doesn't know why, but her body is moving before she can register that she is, and her hand slips onto Dorea's shoulder, the soft material of her robes under Hermione's palm, and she squeezes gently.

Dorea turns to her and smiles gratefully, her left hand reaching across her body, resting it on Hermione's and squeezing it gratefully.

"I think that's enough excitement for me for one night, I'm going to be heading up to bed now," Charlus says, passing by and kissing Dorea's forehead before he leaves the room, nodding at all of them, shoving his hands in his front jean pockets.

Then everything happens quite quickly, Ron excuses himself to go and use the bathroom and Mipsy appears then, the tea pot, cups and silverware clinking on the tray lightly as she tidies it up and then vanishes it, most likely to the kitchen.

Mipsy then tells them that she will lead them to their rooms, and she will find the redheaded boy when he's finished his business, and take him to his room. Hermione finds out that they're all to the left of the grand staircase, the Marauders rooms are on that side of the house as well. Lily accompanies them most of the way, but pauses in front of a dark door on the right, not too far down the corridor.

"Good night, I'll see you all in the morning," Lily smiles softly, turning and opening the door with a soft click.

"Good night," the trio chorus softly, and they follow Mipsy to their assigned rooms.

In the dead of night, when everyone else is asleep, Hermione is sitting up in the soft bed, clutching her wand and she jumps when her door creaks open, but her shoulders sag in relief when she sees Harry and Ron.

She falls asleep that night, years out of her time, but surrounded by love and the warmth of the two people in the world that mean the most to her. It has been an impossibly long day, and she has no idea what the future holds, but as long as she has them she knows she'll be able to face anything.

* * *

 **Friday, February 9th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

Remus stares out of the wide and tall window that stretches upwards toward the ceiling, the cold air gently blowing into the house, causing the curtains to flutter lightly, sitting on Sirius's wooden desk chair that he's shifted earlier.

Honey brown curls and warm brown eyes plagued his dreams last night, and _she's_ been all he can think about all morning since he woke up.

"Uhhhh," Remus hears the moan on his right and glances at the male lying face down on the black silk sheets, who is groggily raising his head and propping himself up on his elbows.

"What happened Moony?" Sirius groans, pressing his palm against his forehead, one eye shut, the other blearily looking right at Remus.

"You were rash and about to do something stupid so I stunned you," Remus smiles mockingly, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning back, but shifting slightly so he's facing Sirius better.

"Oh yea, you fucker," Sirius moans, dropping his head back onto his bed, cradling it in his hands.

Remus flinches then as a wave of nausea hits him, and he closes his eyes momentarily-riding it out. Sirius angles his head in Remus's direction and looks at him, and rasps out, "is it a migraine? You take your painkillers today?"

"Nausea," Remus answers, eyes still closed, but he can practically feel Sirius's worried gaze burning into his skull.

Remus had once lied about his symptoms and how bad they were to his best mates, but lately it had seemed pointless, especially since they were able to read him like a book. They knew all his tells for when he was fibbing or downplaying just how much pain he was in-so he just didn't bother not telling them anymore.

There is a comfortable silence as the nausea passes, and then Remus opens his eyes and Sirius is sitting up, feet hanging off the side of his bed, hands clenching his bedsheets.

"So...time travellers huh?" Sirius says, and his eyebrows shoot up into the hair that is hanging in his face and eyes.

"Time travellers," Remus echoes softly, and again _she_ pops up into his mind.

"Where they now?"

"Here, Dumbledore _requested_ that they stay here," Remus responds gently, gauging Sirius's reaction, but the other wizard seems to remain calm, and Remus guesses that his emotions maybe aren't as potent as they were the previous afternoon.

Sirius snorts, "doubt it was much of a request."

"No, it wasn't," Remus confirms, shrugging.

"That little witch really is something," Sirius shakes his head, a small smirk touching his lips.

His blood runs cold as he sees _the look_ , it's the look Sirius gets whenever he's interested in a witch, and almost always he ends up getting her. Something possessive, untamed and feral boils inside Remus's gut and his eyes are flashing amber and gold.

Sirius looks back at him at that exact moment and tilts his head in curiosity, "Moony...don't tell me you're interested in her."

Remus doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything, but Sirius takes his silence as his answer and a short, breathy laugh escapes his lips, "oh, this is good."

* * *

 **Thank you all again *hearts* if you notice any grammar mistakes etc, don't be afraid to PM me and let me know :)**

 **Love,**

 **Indieblue xxx**

 **P.S. My amazing, wondrous friend posted the first chapter of her Monster time travel fic today, and it deserves all of the love, so if anyone is interested, it's called The Phoenix in the Cuckoo Clock by hogwartsaheadcanon. It's utterly brilliant.**


	10. I Will Marry You

**I entirely blame Sable for asking so nicely, and for Worthfull for putting the idea in my head. I was simply going to describe the events that transpire below you, but then she got me thinking and it ended up growing into its own chapter.**

 ***whew* I was nervous about whether anyone was going to like Lily or not, I'm so glad that she seems to have been received well! I think we can tell that everyone is a bit 'edgier' in this fic. I've always liked the idea with Lily having a tattoo, so I decided why not?**

 **Thank you all so, SO much for your reviews, I'm going to try and get to them all when I can!**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **This chapter is especially for Worthfull and for Henny since they are so, SO lovely xxx and as always Calebski makes me smile with her reviews (I'm sure you'll yell at me later dear ;p)**

 **As always, for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Flashback**

 **Lily**

Lily quietly steps into the dark room, the only light is coming from the almost full moon. Lily frowns at the sight, there are mere days before the next Full Moon and she _hates_ it. She always does. She always has- well, ever since she learned what happens to Remus on that night.

 _He's sulking_ , Lily notes as she see James, sitting down with his knees bent, back against the wall under the vast window, the moonlight casting his long shadow towards her.

James is shirtless, his scarred and toned chest on full display, he's only in his tight trousers, but they've been unbuttoned at the top, and his feet are bare. James's hair is messier than normal, like he's been frustratedly running his hands through it for hours-it's sticking up at odd angles, and especially so in the back.

"Guessing by your expression, you met our _guests,_ " James says blankly, but there is a bite of ice at the end of his statement.

"Still wrapping my head around it," Lily says honestly. She starts to walk towards her wizard, boots clipping across the hardwood.

"And?"

"I thought I was dreaming or that maybe I'd inhaled too many potions fumes in my life for a moment," Lily murmurs, stopping right in front of James, stooping down and meeting his gaze. Her knees are to her chest, and her hands are delicately resting on her kneecaps.

"Why are your hands so dirty?" James frowns, reaching out and grasping one of her smaller hands in his much larger, much warmer, much rougher one; though because of all the cuts and burns she's gotten over the years whilst she toils away over cauldrons, hers aren't exactly soft either.

"I was taking a stroll in the park today-in Muggle London, and some bloke with a filthy mouth was harassing this lovely young lady so…" Lily trails off, and leaves the rest of the story open ended and up for interpretation; of course knows his witch _very_ well, and comes to an accurate conclusion within moments.

"You kicked his sorry arse, didn't you?" James asks with a ghost of a smile.

"I may or may not have shoved his face into a flower bed, but that's hearsay and if I did, he deserved it," Lily nods, and James squeezes her hand tighter, amusement dancing in his eyes even if his face looks haggard and weary.

 _I do wish he'd smile properly_ , Lily thinks sadly, and she knows what she has to say.

"James,"

"Lily?" James says hesitantly-they don't refer to each other by their first names often, old habits die hard and all that, mostly they had a few pet names or called each other by their surnames.

"Before we talk about time travellers, or the fact that one of them is our son from another dimension, or about Peter-" James's face contorts with pain and blazes with rage and fury, so potent, so raw, she pauses in her speech for a moment, "-Dorea says you should be the one to tell me...either way, before any of that, I have something to tell you," Lily says nervously.

"Something to tell me?" James asks, brow knitting together as he leans forward.

"My answer. About marrying you-" Lily feels him stiffen under her fingers, but she persists, free hand moving to grasp his neck, "-I will. I want to marry you James Galieus Potter."

"What?" James says dumbly, hazel eyes widening.

"Yes, I will marry you," Lily repeats, biting her lip.

 _What if he doesn't want to marry me anymore? What if he's decided I'm more trouble than I'm worth-_ Lily's inner monologue is abruptly halted and interrupted as James reaches forward, his legs dropping open to the sides and pulling her into him. His body is shaking and she can't tell if it's from laughing or crying, but she frankly doesn't care.

"Thank Godric," James whispers into her hair, and then everything is okay. The man she loves, loves her, and he wants to marry her still, even if she was hesitant and wary. After all the death and pain they have endured recently, any bit of happiness they get seems to be a cruel joke.

It doesn't take her long to take off her makeup and shower quickly in James's shower. The steam billowing and fogging up the bathroom. Under normal circumstances, he would join her, but today is far from normal.

Whilst she dries her hair with her wand, he changes into his pyjamas, and then she grabs a nightie from his closet. She's slowly been accumulating quite a wardrobe in James's cupboard, and to date he hasn't complained so she had simply kept adding to it.

The emerald green silk nightie is smooth and gentle on her skin, and she pads over to his bed. James holds her hands and explains what happened today, all of it, not skimping any details.

James then cradles her in his arms, whispering the rest of the terrible truth in the darkness. She tucks her head under his chin, and wraps her arms around his middle.

By the end of it, Lily is stunned and she can't think of anything to do besides squeeze James tighter, and stroke his chest and whisper sweet nothings to him.

Lily falls asleep that night, thoughts plagued by the information James disclosed to her. _Peter_ , Lily thinks morosely, she never would have guessed, _never_ would have suspected him capable of betraying them all.

 _I suppose that's why it's called betrayal though, and you never see it coming since it is the people that are closest to you. They're the ones that cut deepest, the ones that hurt the most and leave you a ruined husk of who you once were,_ Lily thinks, sorrow engulfing her, gulping her down and dragging her to its depths.

The darkness swallows them both, but they are together, and that's all that matters. As long as they're together, they can conquer anything. That thought comforts her, and it's what finally lulls her into a-thankfully-dreamless sleep.


	11. Breakfast

**Hello my dears!**

 **So...HOW HAS DALLIANCE GOTTEN ALL THE LOVELY REVIEWS AND SO MANY FOLLOWS AND FAVOURITES ALREADY?**

 **Thank you all. Just thank you.**

 **I do hope you'll enjoy this chapter, welcome properly to day two in the past. There may be a few time skips in the future, but they won't be too harsh I don't think. Either way, I am having way to much fun writing this.**

 **I just updated Fall Through Time, which has moved into its' Remione stage, and my Sirimione (Time Travel? Piece of Cake) if you wish I'd like it if you check them out, of course you don't have to!**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Sable and Lais xxx and also for my other dears (especially you Henny, Calebski and worthfull!)**

* * *

 **Friday, February 9th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

Hermione, Ron and Harry head downstairs when the house is quiet. Everyone else is probably asleep, but their stomachs woke them up-twisting painfully in knots and pulsing with hunger pangs-so they decide to go in search of food before anyone can come fetch them.

They get lost a few times, taking a wrong turn here and there, only for there to be a dead end ahead of them most of the time.

Eventually they find the kitchen, and they briefly hesitate in the short doorway, catching a glimpse of Mipsy cooking. Her fingers dance as she multitasks-beating eggs in one bowl over her shoulder, a knife chopping up some chives with neat precision, and Mipsy herself is standing on the counter next to the stove, peering into a pan where Hermione can smell and hear bacon sizzling.

Back around the corner from where they came is a large, long maple oak table-with room to seat twelve people comfortably; there are twelve navy blue placemats with silverware already laid out on the table. The room is square, and on the far side of the room there are floor to ceiling windows on either side of the wide, seven foot tall white French doors. The walls are a powdery blue colour, and a smaller chandelier than the one they saw earlier is hanging from the ceiling, sparkling and glinting in the morning sun. The walls are lined with torches to match the rest of the house.

"Mipsy heard you come downstairs, now go and sit and Mipsy will bring food," Mipsy says, not looking up from her task-she's taking a pitcher of orange juice out of the ice-box.

Hermione, Ron and Harry all jump at being caught, but dumbly they follow her instructions, sitting at the closest end of the table; Hermione at the head and Ron and Harry on either side of her.

Mipsy comes in minutes later, and glasses and plates appear in front of them.

"Now, Mipsy doesn't know what you all like yet, or how you like it, so she made most everything-" Mipsy pauses and looks at Ron, who is dreamily watching the platters of food that are floating into the room land on the table, "-though I suspect that you will eat everything Master Weasley."

"D-Did I tell you my name?" Ron stutters out, snapping out of his daze and no longer salivating over the delicious smelling food.

Mipsy laughs then, unabashedly, and shakes her head in amusement, wiping her hands on the front of her crisp white apron and says sweetly, "Mipsy knows things Master Weasley...now please use your utensils, you shall behave in a proper manner in this household."

Without a further word, she vanishes with a pop and Hermione then hears a gay tune coming from the kitchen, and the sound of a gas stove being turned on.

Harry, Hermione and Ron are well into their meal when they hear footsteps and turn in time to see James and Lily walking towards them.

Hermione swallows thickly when she sees that James is shirtless. He is very, _very_ fit. She has to pry her eyes away from the way his muscles move as he walks. She frowns as she notices some spidery, pink scars moving across his chest, they look newer, like they were now almost done healing.

"Morning," James yawns, running a hand through his hair. Hermione repeats the greeting, but she notes that his shoulders look stiff, as if he's uncomfortable and on his guard.

When he goes to sit down a couple seats down from Ron on the right hand side of the table, Hermione catches a glimpse of his back.

A massive stag's bust is there, on top of some wide, white scars that are almost unnoticeable due to the ink he'd covered them with. They look much older than the ones on his chest, and curiousity is needling her and pressing her to ask how he got them.

Instead however she sees how the stag looks like it's breathing, shaking its coat-which was greyish brown-and she is lost in its beady black eyes, and how its antlers stretch from the middle of James's back to the base of his neck. His tattoo covers the majority of his back.

She feels the breath on her ear before she hears the voice, but she doesn't register either until he's finished speaking, "magical tattoos are a lot more fun I find."

Hermione flinches harshly and turns to her left, heart beating out of her chest. Coming face to face with Sirius. She glances past him and sees Remus in leaning against the wall from the corridor at the entrance to the room. She frowns the smallest amount because they too, are both shirtless.

 _What in Merlin's name? Do they all walk around shirtless?_ Hermione thinks, her frown deepening.

"Good morning to you too, Sirius," Hermione smiles wryly, turning back to her plate, busying herself by cutting up her sausage. Using everything in her not to look back at Remus and oogle.

She watches Sirius as he saunters over to the left side of the table, sitting at the furthest seat on that side, he plops down into the chair, throwing his right leg over the chair arm and shifting so that he's looking directly at her. Hermione narrows her eyes a fraction since he's looking at her like he knows something she doesn't, and he's enjoying every moment of it; grey eyes sparkling with mischief, an arrogant smirk fixed on his face.

Sirius was attractive. Deadly so, but there was something about Remus that drew her in. _Fuck it, I'll take a peek_ , Hermione thinks, and then her head is turning to her left and her lungs shrivel as she's robbed off all of her oxygen.

Not only does he have lickable abs-his body too is littered with scars and slightly raised tissue, some looking more like scratches, others looked like teeth marks-but he looks powerful and dangerous in a completely different way to Sirius. She licks her lips as she notices that he's watching her too. Except his hazel eyes are speckled with amber and gold.

She blinks a few times and then she returns to her food, mentally berating herself for giving in. _Oh, but why does he have to look so damn good?_ Hermione whimpers internally.

She is terrifyingly aware as he walks past her on her left to the other side of the table, where Lily and James are sitting across from Sirius. The seat at the other end of the table is _of course,_ available.

Hermione steals a glance upwards and notices that Sirius is directly on Remus's right, Lily and James on his left, and he's languidly leaning back in his chair-looking as if he owns the place.

So to distract herself, she turns to Harry and asks him if he had any nightmares last night.

"No, think it's cause we were sleeping in the same bed, you know they don't come as often when we're together," Harry smiles weakly, but Hermione sees how tired he looks and she's not sure she believes he's being entirely truthful.

"What about you, Ron?" Hermione asks curiously, whipping her head around so there's no chance she'll meet _his_ eyes again.

"Nope, none," Ron responds, taking a bite of his buttered toast.

Hermione was about to say something else when Lily's musical voice spread across the room, "sorry to interrupt...but if you wouldn't mind dreadfully...we're all in the same place, so perhaps now would be a good time to talk?"

Hermione, Ron and Harry stare blankly at the pleasant redhead, and they share a secret look.

"I think it best we show you," Hermione says softly. "It'll...it'll be easier to understand everything that way."

A sudden voice from the corridor makes them all jump, and Hermione's hand is on her wand behind her ear in a split second, "I think I can arrange the pensieve in the study to be taken down for you all," and Hermione relaxes when she sees it's Dorea.

The Golden Trio nods and after tidying up their breakfast dishes-Mipsy shooes them away with a dish towel before they could clear them entirely-they follow the raven haired witch.

Hermione looks directly at Remus as she says, "we'll see you in a bit." She swears she sees the corners of his lips turn upwards, but she's walking away before she can figure out what she saw.

* * *

Dorea pats Hermione's shoulder, moves to brush Harry's cheek with the back of her hand, and stops to squeeze Ron's hand on her way out of the study.

The study is a smaller room back from whence they came, but to the left of the foyer and not too far away from the sun room-a few doors down.

The walls are a dark chocolate brown, the far wall is lined with bookshelves-organised by author from what she can tell by a quick onceover, there's a long mahogany desk a few feet away from them, a brown leather chair tucked under it, and there are a few matching armchairs on either side of the room, feet in front of the bookshelves so there's ample room to move about as one pleases.

Dorea had retrieved the pensieve, leaving it hovering over the desk; it was wide, shallow looking and made of dark grey stone, intricate carvings-words and curling and twisting vines-are covering the sides, working their way around the bowl's circumference. The top is looks like smooth glass, an inky blue colour.

Hermione, Ron and Harry slowly approach it, and Hermione begins to nibble on her bottom lip.

"What are we going to put in it?" Ron asks softly.

"Well...everything we can about our third year that you think is important," Harry responds, face flickering with doubt-most likely remembering how he had thought that Sirius had wanted to kill him, and how the hatred he had felt when he thought that Sirius had betrayed his parents.

"This is going to be rather tedious and intense isn't it?" Ron groans, "Not that I mind really...and I guess it gives us time to be by ourselves, though I feel like we'll be here all day at this rate."

"I think a little space is going to be good for everyone," Hermione finally pipes in, "the only real question, is who wants to go first?"

There's silence as no one volunteers, and then Ron says, "how about someone works on labelling the vials that Missus Black left us, and the other two start pulling memories?"

"I think maybe a little more organisation that that is necessary, but something like that can work," Hermione agrees.

"Well, guess it's time to get started," Harry sighs.

"Any rules on what we're not showing them?" Hermione asks as she looks into the dark depths of the bowl-which looks much deeper than physically possible.

"Anything personal that we don't want to, and nothing about the horcruxes, until we figure out what _we_ want to do about them, then I say we keep that to ourselves for now," Ron offers.

"Agreed," Hermione and Harry chime.

Hermione stiffens out of habit as she feels fingers touch her the side of her face, but she relaxes instantly as she reminds herself that it's just Ron.

Hermione angles her head towards him, and sees concern in his bright blue eyes, and then his fingers tenderly tuck some curls behind her ear, and he steps forward, arm moving to encircle her shoulders from behind and she feels his soft lips against her temple. "You don't need to put anything about Malfoy Manor in there if you don't want to," Ron whispers, and Hermione smiles sardonically, her hands moving to wrap around him, his bigger frame engulfing her.

"I know...but I need to, it'll be easier to explain the scar on my arm," Hermione murmurs, and Ron squeezes her to him tighter.

"As long as you're sure, Mione," Ron exhales softly, she can feel his chest moving as he breathes.

Not for the first time since they got here yesterday, Hermione finds herself thankful that Ron and Harry are with her. It would be unbearable otherwise, she just knows it.

Ron releases her, and she shoots him a small smile before she turns back to the pensieve, "okay, let's get to work."

* * *

 **As per usual, all my chapters are unbeta'd so if you wish to point out any mistakes, or grammatical errors then please send me a PM to inform me of any mistakes :)**

 **Love you,**

 **Indieblue xxx**


	12. It's Not Okay

**Hello my dears!**

 **Right, so this writing hiatus isn't going as planned. I suppose it's cause the workload at school is still pretty light for now. The muse is stressed out and she needs to do something before she goes insane. I can't promise that I'll update again soon, I have no idea when I'm going to be updating from here on out. Mainly because of the writing hiatus, but I will try to update when I can though. I promise.**

 **I am totally over the Moon because I posted a new chapter of TTPoC (Time Travel? Piece of Cake) yesterday and the Sirimione smut went down pretty well, so thank goodness. Still not confident about writing in that area. Either way, I'm just so happy.**

 **Thank you for all of your lovely, lovely reviews. Just thank you. You all mean so much to me. So much.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Sable and Lais xxx and this chapter is for Henny, Calebski and Em, you darling darlings you. I love you all.**

* * *

"That the last one?" Ron asks wearily, currently lying on the ground, spread out like a starfish.

"Thank Godric," Harry sighs, sitting in one of the armchairs on the left side of the room. Pulling memories all day is magically exhausting, and their original assessments prove to be accurate-it did take all day. They hadn't stopped to eat, rest or drink; too caught up in their work.

The trio had moved like a well oiled machine, all of the gears interlocking and running at an incredible speed.

Hermione makes a noise to let the boys know that she heard them, but she's too busy-intently focusing on ensuring that the vials are lined up in order, organising them by date.

The door creaks open behind her, but she assumes everything is fine since neither of her boys made any noises in alarm.

Then she freezes, because it's _his_ voice that reaches her ears from the door. "Hey, um, Mum and Mipsy have requested that you guys come eat dinner with the rest of us." Hermione snorts softly, that doesn't sound like a request at all.

Hermione makes a humming noise, and then says, "okay, we're almost done." She doesn't want to look back at him, because she has a strange feeling that she will lose her concentration, and she's almost done. Three more vials in fact.

"Mione, we're going to go ahead, is that okay?"

"Mhmmm, I know you're both hungry, I'll be there in a second," Hermione says noncommittally. She hears the footsteps and the door close, and she's left alone.

She quickly places the other vials down, and then she straightens up, sighing as she looks down at their handiwork. _I am starving, but I want nothing more than to go and sleep,_ Hermione thinks. She licks her lips as she turns around-brushing her wild curls back from her face, and then she halts abruptly, all of her oxygen is stolen away from her when she notices that she's _not_ alone.

"I thought you left with the boys," Hermione manages to get out, her throat clamping down and her lungs reluctant to release any more oxygen than what had already been stolen.

"Thought I'd stay and walk with you," Remus says lightly pushing off of the wall that he had been leaning against.

 _At least he's got a ruddy shirt on this time,_ Hermione thinks.

"Why?" Hermione asks suspiciously, eyes narrowing; she does however find herself walking towards him.

They meet in the middle of the room, bodies inches apart, his body heat and hers blending together and she can feel his warmth permeating through her, getting under her skin and shooting into her bloodstream.

"Not sure. Just a friendly gesture I guess," Remus shrugs cavalierly.

"If you say so Remus John Lupin," Hermione laughs softly, and he looks slightly surprised by the delightful noise that escaped her lips.

"How do you know my middle-" Remus starts but cuts himself off before he finishes his question, understanding flooding his features. "That's right, you guys are from the future...you must know a lot about me."

"I know a lot about _my_ dimension's Remus," Hermione corrects gently, "I know practically nothing about you...Remus and Sirius didn't really talk about when they were younger very often. Not often at least."

Hermione is made very aware of the fact that she hasn't showered yet for the day when she looks up at Remus and their eyes meet properly. It's intense and _hot_ and between her legs is definitely a little damp now.

"They'll wonder where we are, we should get going," Remus says softly, and Hermione reaches up to grasp her neck-immediately regretting it when he catches sight of the ugly slur carved into her left forearm. _Shit_ , Hermione thinks as he takes a step closer, hand hovering over her arm, gaze potent and raw and _frustratedly unreadable_. She nods sharply, and he's touching her. Not a brush, or a shared glance. Skin on skin, and it scares her just how _good_ it feels.

His hands are careful, cautious even as he holds her forearm, eyes now angry and she would hate to be on the wrong end of him. She sucks in a small gasp when she sees that his eyes are fully amber now, a dusting of gold across his irises.

"War," Hermione says curtly, shrugging jerkily.

"It's a nasty, foul word and it does _not_ mean that you are lesser or inferior. From what I've seen you're one of the most brilliant people I've probably ever come across-"

Hermione puts her other hand on top of his and then squeezes, effectively cutting him off because now he's focusing on their entangled hands.

"I don't...it's okay Remus. Really," Hermione insists, but it sounds like a terrible lie ringing in her ears, and Remus's face is impartial, his gaze unwavering. She's not sure if he believes her, and then a shiver dances along her spine as she notices his eyes are still amber and gold.

"I don't know how you got it...and I'm guessing I'll find out soon in those memories...but I want to make this clear-" Remus's eyes flick to her arm for a split second before he continues, "-it is _not_ okay."

 _He doesn't know. He wasn't there_ , a voice hisses, needling her. Then she takes a deep breath and smiles shakily. Somehow hearing Remus saying that and staring at her-solely focusing on her and her alone-makes her heart skip a beat.

"I did put that memory in there. Some of the memories are definitely unpleasant, they aren't going to be easy to watch," Hermione whispers.

"Nothing is ever easy is it?" Remus asks, even though it sounds more like a statement than anything, like he understands all too well.

There's a comfortable silence that settles over them, and Hermione notices that they are both incredibly close. Frighteningly close.

"We should...we should go and eat with everyone else," Hermione murmurs after taking a quick breath.

"Yea, c'mon," Remus smiles and he catches his lip ring with his top teeth. _Beat, beat, beat_ , her heart pounds. _Fucking hell._

Hermione gently takes her hands away from his, and then they're walking side by side, and she can practically feel his body heat and the back of their hands were almost brushing as they strode down the hallway.

She catches him looking at her out of the corner of his eye and it fills her with a feeling she can't quite place.

She however fails to see the look that Sirius gives them as they enter the room. Harry and Ron have left a space for her at the head of the table and she smiles wryly when she notices that Remus is directly across from him.

Dinner is civil and there's a pleasant bit of small talk that passes between everyone.

When everyone's done eating and all the dishes have been cleared away, Hermione raises an eyebrow as she sees Lily and James. James is walking in front of Lily, and her hands are gripping his sides-moments earlier however, she had leaned forward and lightly bit his shoulder. James turns back to look at Lily and smiles softly.

Hermione looks to her left and she finds him, and he's already looking at her, she mouths 'goodnight' with a small smile.

She feels his eyes on her as she leaves and she can't help but feel a bit happy about it.

* * *

" _When you call my name it's like a little prayer_ ," Hermione sings softly, the hot water from the shower head pouring over her. She hisses as it hits her full on and she can see her skin pinking.

" _I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there_ ," Hermione continues, closing her eyes and ducking under the water fully, turning around so that it's hitting the back of her.

Hermione has no idea what to expect from everyone tomorrow. How they'll react, what they'll say. How they'll treat them afterwards.

" _In the midnight hour I can feel your power. Just like a prayer you know I'll take you there_."

She picks up the bar of soap and begins to scrub furiously at her skin. Thankfully she'd used freshening charms throughout the day, otherwise the golden trio would've smelled quite ripe for the entire day.

Hermione scrubs away grime and sweat and it occurs to her then that she's removing the last remnants of her last life. Every soapy sud, the layer of skin she's scrubbing away, the water washing it all down the drain.

" _I hear your voice, it's like an angel sighing. I have no choice, I hear your voice. Feels like flying. I close my eyes, Oh God I think I'm falling, out of the sky, I close my eyes. Heaven help me_ ," Hermione sings, her voice breaking and then she falls to her knees, body wracking with sobs. Everyone's gone. Ginny. The twins. _Everyone_. Molly, Arthur. Faces are flashing behind her eyelids. Sirius falling through the veil, Tonks throwing herself in front of Remus and him crying over her broken body. Remus not being the same after that, even with Teddy. Never being able to find her parents and figure out how to return their memories.

 _No...not gone, just different. It's different, and I can change things. I can fix them,_ Hermione tells herself through her pained sobs. _I can save them._

Part of her worries that Remus's mate will still be Tonks in this dimension, and she has no idea why it burrows a hole in her chest and makes her feel so twisted inside, like broken glass is jostling around in her stomach, cutting everything to shreds. _Godric I hope not._


	13. Memories

**MY DARLINGS!**

 **I am still blown away with all the love for this story. BLOWN AWAY.**

 **Right, so I'm extremely nervous about this chapter, but I do hope you all like it. It's also the longest chapter yet since I wanted to recount all of the memories in one chapter. It made my brain hurt a little researching to make sure I had everything in the right order, it was a good hurt though. A good one.**

 **I meant to post this on the weekend, but I just had to post it tonight, I couldn't help myself.**

 **As per usual, all of my work is currently un-beta'd so if you see any mistakes etc feel free to PM me to let me know :)**

 **Thank you all for your reviews, you make me all so happy! You're all balls of lovely sunny goodness :D thank you all so, so much.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx I love you both! I know you've been patiently awaiting this chapter Sable, so I hope you like it my dear! Also my lovely Henny is my cheerleader and I love her.**

* * *

 **Saturday, February 10th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

 **The Study**

Remus is watching _her_ , his eyes are always drawn to Hermione the instant she walks into a room. _He's_ drawn to her. It's completely insane, even more so considering he's only known her for practically forty-eight hours.

"Some of our memories may be a little disturbing...and I know we should make you take Unbreakable Vows...but we decided not to do that. We've decided to trust you," Ron is the one speaking, Hermione is strangely quiet and pensive, standing on his right a step behind him. Harry looks like he's going to be sick, even if he's smiling weakly on Ron's other side.

 _Trusting us must be extremely difficult for them_ , Remus muses, seeing the stiffness in their spines and the worry in their eyes. _I don't think **I** would be able to trust someone with what are bound to be intimate memories_.

"Does anyone wish us to accompany them into our memories...we would if you wish," Hermione says then, the first time she's spoken since entering the room. The first time he's heard her speak for the morning.

"We can go in pairs with one of you each," James suggests, brow puckering.

"That works too," Hermione nods, she then looks directly at Remus and Sirius, "I'll take you two."

"Don't I get any say in this kitten?" Sirius purrs, an acidic edge to his tone.

"Trust me, I'm the only one that will be able to deal with both of you," Hermione smiles sardonically, almost sadly.

"I choose Harry," Lily says happily, holding out a hand to the raven haired boy-who nervously walks forward and takes it.

"Guys...isn't there only one pensieve?" Ron asks then, pointing out an issue.

"I have several," Dorea replies, waving it off easily, "I guess then you're with us, Ron."

Charlus smiles as Ron joins their side, clapping him on his shoulder, "let's get started."

Remus is focusing on Hermione, who heads towards the pensieve that's already been taken down and he notes how her hand shakes as she picks up a vial and unstoppers it. With a shuddering breath she pour it into the pensieve, which is now cloudy and it's swirling with thready black wisps of what Remus can only guess are her memories.

"Are you ready?" Hermione asks the two boys as they join her side.

"Fuck no, but best get on with it," Sirius smiles mockingly, and Remus can tell he's throwing up his walls-retreating inside himself in order to protect himself from whatever awaits them in her memories.

It takes a second, but then they're all equally spaced around the pensieve and their heads dip into its waters and when Remus opens his eyes again he's standing upright in a foggy place. The fog is so thick that he can barely see his fingers when he raises them a few inches away from his face, much less anything else.

"Remember...they're just memories," Hermione's voice is cradling him gently like a Mother holding her babe, surrounding him, engulfing him wholly and completely. Remus turns to his right and sees Sirius gazing at his hands in wonder-the fog is thinning slightly. Most people didn't use pensieves when they were their age. Normally they were kept for Ministry officials, older wix or they had been passed down in magical families for generations. This was new for both of them.

"This is when I first met you," Hermione whispers in his left ear, and Remus jumps, the curly haired witch is right beside him now, looking on fondly at the scene that unfolds around them.

They're in a Hogwarts train compartment, and Hermione is here, except she's smaller and younger. She's dressed in Gryffindor robes, all crisp and neatly put together and she's happily chatting away with two boys he recognises as younger versions of Harry and Ron.

"You were a goody two shoes, weren't you?" Sirius drawls, clearly unsure about the relevance of this memory.

Remus was going to tell him to shove off when he feels the temperature drop drastically. It's freezing, and suddenly it's like everything good has been dragged forcefully from the world, being stolen away into a vacuum.

 _Dementor._ Remus freezes and he feels Sirius stiffen beside him. _What is a Dementor doing on the train?_ Remus feels panic as it heads straight for Harry, his emotions raw and his heart is beating out of his chest. Then it's sucking away wisps of translucent white mist from Harry. It's sucking his soul out of him. Harry's screams are all that he can hear, drowning out everything else. He barely feels her fingers slip around his arm and hold onto his left forearm.

Then the figure in the corner of the compartment flies up-Remus hadn't even noticed him until that moment-brandishing his wand and yelling, " _Expecto Patronum!"_ Bright white light bursts from his wand, obscuring his features, it's a corporeal patronus-a massive wolf-and it sends the Dementor fleeing in the other direction.

Then it all fades away.

"What the fuck was that?" Sirius growls.

"Remember how Peter betrayed everyone and framed you?" Hermione asks, now standing in front of them both-scrutinising them thoroughly.

"Yea...again, what the _fuck_ was that?"

"The Ministry's idea. They sent the Dementors to look for _you_ , because you broke out of Azkaban. First one to do it actually...you saw Peter on the front page of the Daily Prophet, it was a picture of Ron's family on vacation. You broke out to protect Harry," Hermione explains gently.

"How long was I-other me, in Azkaban?" Sirius asks shakily, his cool facade cracking.

"Twelve years."

" _Twelve_ -" Sirius gasps, eyes widening.

It's at that moment that Remus considers what Sirius may have seen when he had forced his way into Harry's head on that first day, but from seeing Sirius's face now, he wonders if he saw anything really at all. Perhaps the memories had been fractured and nonsensical since Sirius really was rubbish at Legilimency. Remus would have to ask him later.

"I would love to say that that's the worst of it...but it's not," Hermione admits-again, her voice brimming with sadness.

"Why do I feel like I'm not going to like this?" Remus asks under his breath.

"You're not…" Hermione responds honestly. "No one is."

* * *

They had to take a break after the Shrieking Shack incident. Remus changing. Sirius almost dying. Peter escaping. The time turner. Hermione watching as Harry fought off hordes of Dementors.

Sirius looks horridly shook up, and Remus can't find it in himself to react. If he reacts he'll probably lose it.

They both figured out pretty quickly that it was Hermione's emotions they were feeling as they moved through the memories. Happiness. Fear. Sadness. Grief. Regret. Sorrow. Joy. _All_ of it.

The memories aren't as bad during her Fourth year, Remus narrows his eyes at Krum when they're watching the Durmstrang boy dance with Hermione at the Yule Ball. He can't help but think that he's a tad too old for Hermione, but he feels her happiness and he finds that he can't hate the boy in the end. They flash through her fight with Ron, her night ending with tears.

The tasks are a blur until the last. Which they follow in crystal detail. Hermione is so focused on the entrances to the maze. She's worried. Something's wrong.

Then everything is crumbling, falling apart. Harry and Cedric appear out of thin air just in front of the entrance to the maze, the hedge is currently knitted closely together, ensuring no one can turn back just like that.

The joy and mirth just makes her stomach drop further. Then she sees it. _Blood._

Harry's arm is covered in crimson, a deep gash along the inside of his forearm, and he's clutching at Cedric's body-his motionless body. Sobbing violently.

Remus was wrong. Very wrong. Her fourth year is much worse than her third.

The music and cheering cuts out sharply. It's dead silent. Dumbledore is rushing towards Harry.

Then Amos-it had taken Remus a moment to recognise him earlier in Hermione's memories-is screaming and crying out for his son, " _that's my boy! That's my boy!_ "

It all fades again.

* * *

 _Weasley is Our King_. Remus hates it. The chant just gets louder and louder, and he sees how pale Ron is, how he looks like he's about to be ill. It's terrible.

The Quidditch games don't end well. Harry and the twins getting lifelong Quidditch bans because of Umbridge. Remus hates her already, but she's just stacking up the evidence for why Remus should hate her even further. She should hang from a pink rope for being so horrible, it would be poetic justice.

* * *

Dumbledore's Army is brilliant, they weren't getting taught so they took it upon themselves to learn how to defend themselves.

Remus can feel how Hermione is a bit wary of Luna Lovegood, but he thinks she's fantastic. She's so much like her Mother, yet so vastly different at the same time. Pandora was more grounded, a bit more serious, though she had an uncanny knack way of knowing things as well. Luna is in her own world most of the time, dreaming of things far beyond any of their wildest dreams.

Neville is amazing as well, and he sees Frank's kindness and Alice's bravery in the boy. He's a bit timid, but as the sessions go on, Neville gets more confident and it's extremely moving. They must be so proud.

* * *

His heart breaks. A jagged and uneven line of pain just tearing through him. A spear feels like it's being thrust into his chest, and he can't help the tear that rolls down his cheek.

Frank and Alice. Alice and Frank. His brave, brilliant friends. It's Christmas, and he wishes he could reach through time and space to the morose looking Neville and tell him how Alice used to twirl her bangs around her finger when she was nervous, how Frank used to forget about tying his shoelaces and almost always trip over them.

Augusta Longbottom is a severe woman as always, tall, thin, high cheekbones and looking regal and powerful.

"We didn't know," a soft voice trembles beside him and he looks over to see Hermione holding back tears. "We didn't know that Bellatrix had tortured Neville's parents to the point of insanity. We didn't know that Neville could have been the boy of prophecy. He almost was. If Snape hadn't overheard it and reported to the Dark Lord...who knows. Voldemort just assumed it was Lily."

"What?" Sirius says, tearing his eyes away from the scene that is still playing out in front of them.

"I-Snape...he regretted it for Lily's sake-"

"I'm sure he did that git!" Sirius snarls.

"Shut up!" Hermione growls loudly and takes a menacing step towards Sirius, who doesn't back down, but he doesn't say anything else.

"Prophecy?"

"There was a prophecy that a boy born in July of that year could defeat the Dark Lord...Harry and Neville were both born in July...Voldemort assumed it was Harry, so Lily and James left Potter Manor and went to Godric's Hollow...it could have just as easily have been Neville. After-" Hermione stops, and swallows thickly, "-after Lily and James died and Voldemort was defeated with them, the Death Eaters were still running amuck. Bellatrix went after Alice and Frank and well, you know the rest."

"Get back to Snape's part in all of this," Remus frowns, not wanting to make any assumptions until he has all the facts.

"He was in love with Lily," Hermione says simply.

"Pardon?" Sirius narrows his eyes.

"Till the day he died. It was all for Lily. At least for him it was. I'm not particularly fond of him, he was Neville's boggart for fuck's sake, he bullied Harry, myself and so many others...yet he tried to protect Harry in his own way, for Lily. I won't condemn him for that. He begged Voldemort not to hurt Lily, and of course _he_ broke that promise. Snape turned to Dumbledore, pleading that he save Lily, hide her away...he switched sides for her. He loved her practically his entire life."

"That sounds a little obsessive," Sirius comments, frowning deeply as the information sinks in.

"The point is that he made some bad choices in his youth and then he was stuck somewhere he couldn't get out. He lived a solitary life after the first wizarding war, loyal truly only to Dumbledore. Snape may not have been the nicest, but he was a brave man. He had a brilliant mind, and he helped us win the war. He played a crucial part in Voldemort's downfall. Died so that we could be triumphant. Everything isn't as black and white as it appears," Hermione bites out, her eyes lowering, but Remus manages to catch the haunted look in them before she turns away. Her bottom lip is jutting out, and she raises her head as if she's trying to face her demons.

Hermione has definitely given them both something to chew on, ponder, muse and contemplate. Remus doesn't think about it before he slips his hand into hers. He tries not to think about it too much when she laces her fingers through his.

* * *

 _I must follow the rules_. Remus snarls as he sees the deep cut in Hermione's hand through her eyes. It is strange but he doesn't seem to be observing from the sidelines anymore. It's like he _is_ Hermione. Which freaks him the fuck out whilst simultaneously not worrying him in the slightest.

It's the same toad faced cunt that wrote all those rubbish laws that make it abundantly clear that even when the War is over, he won't have anywhere to work and no real prospects to even dream off. The same one that's been tormenting Hermione and the others all year so far.

Remus vows to rip _her_ to shreds as soon as he gets the chance. No one should treat children like this. She's a monster swaddled in ghastly pink outfits, with ribbons in her hair and bright pink lipstick and if she goes, _"ahem,"_ one more time he swears it's going to drive him crazy.

All the pink accessories and garments and possessions in the world can't cover up the loathsome and repugnant person she is inside. She can powder her nose all she wants, it won't hide the nasty interior barely lurking under the surface.

Every time she calls Harry a liar. Every time she speaks down to Hermione. Every time she dismisses Ron. Every time she opens her _wretched_ mouth, it makes Remus abhor her more and more.

"I'm going to kill her." Remus snarls when the memory slips away into nothing.

"Get in line," Sirius bites, grey eyes ablaze with fury and disgust.

"Calm down boys," Hermione says gently, "we have...other things to look at." Remus's stomach drops then, because he recognises the expression on her face now, though he really wishes he wouldn't.

* * *

" _Sirius_!" Remus screams, hearing an echo and he sees Harry fighting furiously against the _other him_ -the _other_ Remus.

Remus surges forward-even though he knows it's futile, because this is simply a memory-hand trying to grasp Sirius's, but all he feels is smoke, a hair, he misses him by a hair's breadth, and he almost had him. _Almost_. Then Sirius is gone. The dark shroud stealing him away. Remus feels _her_ pain then, doubling on top of his own, he also feels a nasty, _nasty_ pain in his abdomen, and he's scanning the circular room for her. Forgetting about Bellatrix and Harry, and everyone else.

Then he is her. He's lying on the ground, in pain, abdomen pulsing, feeling like the skin has been ripped away and as if he's been split open. Her vision is spotty and she falls back. Unconscious. He fades along with her. The edges of his vision blur and darkness is creeping across his sight. He happily goes into the darkness, there is so much pain in this story and it only seems to get worse.

* * *

There aren't as many memories from her Sixth year, the ones they do see are fairly happy, and for the first time it looks like nothing bad is going to happen this year.

Unless you can count Cormac McLaggen, he makes scum seem appealing. Remus scowls at him every time he sees him making 'seductive' faces at Hermione in his peripherals. Hermione's original intentions were to make Ron jealous when inviting McLaggen to Slughorn's Christmas party, and Remus doesn't know how to process that.

 _What if Hermione and Ron are together? I hadn't even considered it, they are terribly close but it looked like how I am with Lily or Sirius, James and I are together...and Peter used to be._ These thoughts are running a mile minute through his head.

The Malfoy boy-Draco-is dragged into the room by Filch, who had definitely not aged well, harsh lines are dug into his face, trenches left behind by misery and by constantly frowning.

It's a huge commotion and Hermione is shushing Harry and telling him that it doesn't mean anything, Malfoy isn't up to anything.

Harry's obsession with Draco is astounding. It's borderline insane. He's convinced that Draco is responsible for all of the strange and bad things happening this year.

Everything seems to sink, falling away beneath their feet, and when they blink they are in another setting. Hermione is rocking Harry back and forth, he's trembling, shaking, muttering that he didn't mean to. Ron is sitting on the ground next to them, and Ron's younger sister Ginny-Remus'd figured out who the feisty and stubborn witch was from previous memories-is kneeling in front of Harry, hands on his face. There are water droplets on his glasses, and Remus takes a step back when he sees all the blood on Harry's clothes. " _You need to get rid of it Harry, now. You need to get rid of it_ ," Hermione is saying and she's stroking his head. " _Malfoy...Malfoy. Snape. Snape stopped the bleeding...Snape...how did...he gave me so many detentions...why he didn't expel me on the spot I don't know. I almost killed Draco_." Harry starts properly crying now, shrinking into himself. Remus doesn't recognise where they are, but then he sees that they are in a dark alcove, and pushed away from the wix is a worn Potions textbook.

This memory swirls away into Harry and Ginny snuggling in the Common Room, everyone seems happy, even if Ron is shaking his head at the public displays of affection between his sister and best mate. Remus notes that Lavender and Ron are no longer on speaking terms, and he doesn't feel any romantic feelings on Hermione's side towards her ginger haired friend in this memory.

Everything moves much faster after that, it's a blur of images and exposition. Dumbledore dies. The Death Eaters broke into the school and Snape was the one who did it. Sirius is ready to jump on the ' _Snape is an evil, slimy git and can't be trusted_ ' train instantly.

Dumbledore looks so frail as he lays on the ground, frail and nothing like the man he once knew. The one he had seen two days ago; that man was strong, powerful. This man has a blackened, dead looking hand, sallow skin-and somehow despite all that, looks at peace. There's much more to this than Snape simply betraying everyone. _Everything isn't as black and white as it appears_ , Hermione words ring clear as day in his ears.

From Hermione's gaze as she watches the tearful display Remus can't help but truly think there's much more to the story, and something in him tells him that he's not going to find out today. Nor tomorrow, or the day after that. The Golden trio as they have been oft called in these memories are hiding something, and even though Remus is curious, he knows it's for a good reason.

* * *

" _We haven't been in your vault! I swear!_ " Hermione is squirming underneath Bellatrix. The older witch has one hand on Hermione's face, squishing her cheeks together with a vice grip, one knee is on either side of Hermione so that she is effectively straddling her abdomen.

Ron and Harry are being forcefully dragged away. Both yelling and screaming. Ron is much more vocal, screaming that he'll take her place. Take him instead.

Remus and Sirius both freeze as they see Peter is there, how he is assisting them. The way Bellatrix yells his nickname- _their_ nickname for him-just poisons it. It poisons his memory, twisting and contorting it into something despicable. Remus has a hard time reminding himself that _this_ Peter isn't their Peter. This is what their Peter can become. Though with him being prepared for trial and heading off to Azkaban, Remus doesn't think it matters either way.

Hermione leaves them as Bellatrix begins to casually throw cruciatus curse after cruciatus curse. She looks scared. Frightened to death. Somehow she still finds pleasure in torturing Hermione, laughing gaily as Hermione seizes on the floor, clawing away at the wooden floorboards. Draco takes a tiny step forward, but halts moments later, face ashen and he looks desperately like he wants to help, but doesn't know how. Doesn't want to be the one tortured instead.

Hermione's screams are the worst part. Memory Hermione has tears spring from the corner of her eyes, panting heavily when Bellatrix gives her a second to breathe. She's gulping in air as if she was just drowning. Present Hermione is kneeling by her head, her head tipped to the ceiling, tears freely running down her cheeks, hugging herself.

Remus begins to move toward her, but a hand on his arm stops him. He doesn't turn around as he hears, "give her a second...just let her...be."

Remus looks back to Bellatrix, who crouches over Hermione once more, fingers digging into her face as she grips it tightly, her nails breaking Hermione's skin slightly-small beads of crimson welling up from the wounds.

"Don't _lie_ to me. I know you've been there," Bellatrix grits out.

"We haven't been in your vault!" Hermione practically screams, voice trembling as she shakes from the after effects of the cruciatus curse.

"I gave you another chance, _Mudblood._ " Bellatrix says coldly, and then a gleeful expression spreads across her face. It makes her face look harsh, with too many lines and almost surreal.

"Mudblood."

Remus's eyes widen, his stomach flip flops, cold twirls around his spine and wraps around it tightly. He _knows_ what is about to happen. Sirius is still watching uncertainly, no idea how this is going to turn out.

Remus does. He does and he wishes he didn't.

"No!" Remus finds himself screaming, his gut twisting and he almost slips as he runs forward. He only ends up kneeling by Hermione as Bellatrix carves the letters into her skin. Hermione's _red_ blood trickling from the jagged cuts.

Sirius is snarling behind him, and then it all fades. It's all gone. It's over.

Remus, Sirius and Hermione exit the pensieve for the final time and they share a poignant look. They glance at their surroundings and the first thing Remus spots is James and Lily hugging Harry-they are all sitting on the ground-Lily is crying profusely, cradling Harry's head to her chest.

If Hermione's memories had been dark, he couldn't imagine what Harry's had been like. Harry had of course had had Voldemort in his head, had had dreams of Voldemort killing, torturing and maiming people.

One thing was for sure. Everything had changed. They were no longer the people they were before they viewed the trio's memories. Everything was different now. Hermione's hand sought out Remus's and he felt a warmth coursing through his veins. _Yes, it's definitely different now_. What the future held, no one knew; all they knew in that moment was that they were going to do it together.


	14. Hell Hath No Fury

**MY Lovelies!**

 **I really hadn't planned to update today! I hadn't, but last night my muse went nuts and I couldn't stop writing for an hour or so. Which leads me to this chapter, I had a great deal of fun writing it, and I hope you all like it!**

 **OMG. 200 REVIEWS. DALLIANCE HAS SURPASSED 200 REVIEWS!? Crazy. Mental. Insane. I can't believe it. Thank you oh so much to everyone that's left a review, thank you bunches and bunches. I'm just overwhelmingly happy with all the love you guys have for this story.**

 **Back to the main point of why I'm posting a chapter today, it's Hermione's birthday! So I don't have time to write a drabble today, I just know it, but I did write the Dalliance chapter, so I thought I would post this since everyone's been so lovely.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx SPECIAL mention to my darling friend Calebski who basically made me cry with her review, and also to my Henny simply because she is a badass and a wondrous friend and I love you all!**

* * *

Soft, shuddering sobs are the only sound in the room. Sirius is far away from everyone else, leaning against the wall by the door-as if ready to escape at a moment's notice. His current emotional state unreadable, face impassive, hands thrust into his pockets.

Hermione is tiredly sitting in one of the armchairs on the right hand side of the room, her fingers gripping the fabric of the arms tightly. Her curls are piled messily into a bun on top of her head and she's staring listlessly at the huddle of Potters on the ground.

Remus is standing beside Hermione, expression pensive and thoughtful as he too stares at the Potters-as if the very act will help him see what they saw. His stance is relaxed in appearance at first, with his legs spread apart slightly, and his arms crossed. When one looks closer they notice the minute tells and differences. How his fingers grip his biceps, how he is clenching his jaw, how his eyebrows draw together in a severe line.

They are all waiting, for what they aren't entirely sure. It happens moments later, a growl erupts from dark painted lips, grey eyes afire with rage, uncontrolled rage that could destroy men where they stood-their knees giving out from fear.

"I am going to kill them all!" Dorea snarls, and Hermione sits up a bit straighter, eyes widening.

"Dear, they haven't done anything yet," Charlus tries to say, but he doesn't sound like he's really trying to convince her not to set fire to the world. More like he's insisting she has a cup of tea, and think more about _how_ she's going to set everything ablaze.

" _Yet_. Given the chance they would force _my_ grandson to LIVE UNDER THE FUCKING STAIRS IN A CUPBOARD." Dorea shouts, and Hermione watches with wary eyes as the witch moves from the left side of the study, into the middle and then begins pacing up and down the length of the middle of the room.

"Dear-"

"YOU SAW THEM. YOU SAW THE WEASLEY BOYS BREAK HIM OUT OF THAT HORRID PLACE. THEY PUT _BARS_ ON HIS FUCKING WINDOWS," Dorea cuts Charlus off immediately, the tips of her raven hair are sparking as she moves, and Hermione can practically taste the magical energy that's radiating off of the witch.

In that exact moment, Hermione realises that Dorea Potter is perhaps the last person you want to piss off. Hermione wouldn't be surprised if she can give Dumbledore a rough go of it. Something tells her that if he even steps a toe out of line, then she'll be able to witness it for herself.

"Dorea-" Harry starts, leaning back from the circle Lily and James had formed around him, looking as if he is about to stand.

"Granny...Grandma, Nana...whatever you wish dear, because that is what I am. I am your grandmother," Dorea interjects sweetly, the seething woman that was there moments ago is gone. It only takes a split second however, before that other woman is back.

"They will learn that you do not mess with the Blacks, and you most certainly do not mess with the Potters," Dorea growls, stopping in the middle of the room.

"So you saw it all as well? My sister and her husband treating my child with disdain? Harry having to carry a burden on his shoulders greater than he should have ever had to? Voldemort? Sirius and Remus dying? The dead bodies lined up in the Great Hall? Fred Weasley dying? A world where I die to save my baby and he becomes some sort of celebrity because of it? Where _children_ die as soldiers, fighting a war that they should have no part in?" Lily sniffles out, standing up, pushing her shoulders back.

"Oh, my darling. I'm going to ensure that that doesn't happen. I know who to look out for, who could possibly betray us," Dorea says, walking over to Lily and pulling her into her arms. Lily clings to the older witch, eyes squeezing shut as if trying to forget it all. "I'm going to burn them all."

"Dear. They haven't even done those things in this dimension...you can't punish them for things they haven't done," Charlus says, making his way over to his wife, James and Harry had stood up a few moments ago, and he put one hand on either of their shoulders.

"You telling me that you don't want to rip those horrid muggles to pieces for making _our_ grandchild live in a _ruddy cupboard under the fucking stairs_ ," Dorea says, her eyes shifting from calm grey to molten steel in the blink of an eye.

"Fair point."

"I'm not going to go and rip them to shreds right now, since they haven't done anything to hurt our family yet...not really-" Dorea pauses, hugging Lily tighter, "-but there are a few people who are most _certainly_ going to cause harm to us...and I'd like to get them out of the way before they even have the opportunity to try."

"Like who? Who could you possibly know for certain will wrong any member of our family?" Charlus asks curiously, brow drawing together.

Dorea merely smiles softly, head cocking to the side, "my sweet, sweet Charlus...I've already concocted a list...don't you worry."

Hermione found herself standing then, stepping to the side, closer to Remus, and when she looks up at him she sees that he's playing with his lip ring between his teeth and thinking hard about what Dorea just said. Hermione gulps before twirling back around in the others' direction.

Ron is standing back from everyone else a little, looking intrigued and curious as to how this will all play out; Hermione catches movement in her peripherals and sees that Sirius is walking over to James's side.

Dorea then releases Lily and she looks to her right, catching Hermione's eye. Hermione's not certain which one of them smiles first, but before she knows it, a broad, wickedly excited smile is spread across her face.

"Where do we begin?" Hermione asks, tilting her head to the right, honey innocently coating her voice. Dorea's wild grin in response is all the answer she needs.

* * *

 **It takes a lot to make Dorea as livid as she is, not sure if this is the right moment to say this but, "this gon be good, hun."**

 **Indieblue xxx**


	15. Regulus Black

**MY DARLINGS! LOVES!**

 **First, before I say anything else, I must warn you that parts of this chapter are a wee bit graphic, I just thought I'd mention that. So be aware of that, please.**

 **Secondly. AGAIN. BLOWN AWAY BY YOUR RESPONSE AND LOVE FOR THIS STORY. BLOOOOWN AWAY.**

 **There has been a bit of a time skip, it's about a month or so, and in the next chapter it will be Remus's birthday ;)**

 **Seriously, I love you all. I do. Everyone's reactions to Dorea and Hermione teaming up last chapter are the absolute best thing. Dorea, Hermione and Lily teamed together can rule the world. What Ron showed Dorea and Charlus will talked about more in the next chapter, but for now I'll leave you with this fun little chapter.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx my other darlings Henny, Caleb and Worthfull...this chapter is for you. I love you all! xxx**

* * *

 **Friday, March 9th, 1979**

 **Number 12 Grimmauld Place**

 **Islington, London, England**

 _Clip. Clop. Clip. Clip. Clop._

Three wix are moving with determination and purpose, yet they look as if they have all the time in the world to get to their destination-calm, collected and composed.

At the head, was a strong-willed raven haired woman, her six inch black stilettos are clipping across the cobblestones, and upon first glance it appears as if there are tiny sparks flying from her heels. She is wearing a shoulderless, knee-length black lace dress. The under layer is pitch black and the top layer is an intricately woven lace mesh-with a curling and swirling design like smoke billowing from a hot cup of tea-it hugs her curves almost lovingly. She's wearing warm, black outer robes that are open and flying out behind her.

Behind her are two much younger wix, the female is dressed simply, a direct colour contrast to the other witch. She's wearing pure white, like freshly fallen snow; a swing dress with long sleeves that reach her arms and hug her arms. She's wearing a thick dark chocolate brown button down sweater that looks two sizes too big for her and one side hangs off of her shoulder. On her feet are plain white flats and her wild honey brown curls are tied back in a high ponytail, her brown eyes are sparking with defiance.

The male is wearing a pair of tight, black trousers, dark green dragonhide shoes, a crimson waistcoat covering a black button down shirt and on top a well tailored set of outer black robes that almost reached his ankles, his were also unfastened.

The trio stop in front of their destination-at the foot of the stairs. Fourteen stairs, black wrought iron railing on either side-their embellishments contort and twist and almost seem to scream in agony. At the very top of the stairs is a pitch black door, a silver knocker depicting a screaming House Elf and beside the doorframe is a shiny cursive number twelve.

The older witch moves first and the other two follow, all holding their chins high, and the younger witch reaches out and clasps the wizard's hand. He gratefully glances at her before squeezing her hand, a moment later he looks forward with an impassive expression, shaking his head so that his raven tresses brush his shoulders when they fall into place and his grey eyes are the only thing betraying his apprehension at being here.

The raven haired witch grimaces before gingerly reaching out and hitting the knocker against the door.

It's a loud, rebounding sound and it sounds terribly final.

The male peeks over his shoulder and sees the oblivious muggles going about their business and he wishes that he could join them, get as far away from this wretched place as possible.

He brings his attention forward again just in time to see the door creak open a few inches, and standing in the small space, at about two feet tall, looking as miserable as ever is Kreacher.

Kreacher's eyes widen for a moment when he sees exactly who is standing at the door. His skin is an ashy grey, his limbs look frail-as if at any moment he will collapse under his own weight-the baggy sack that he's wearing is practically falling off of his body, the skin under his neck is saggy and wobbles as he smacks his lips together in thought. His long, thin and crooked fingers-from years of being broken and reset badly-are curling around the door. Despite all this he looks younger than Hermione remembers.

"Is your Mistress home, Kreacher?" Dorea asks calmly.

"Mistress Dorea," Kreacher bows his head slightly, but no one misses the way he scowls in disgust when his eyes find Sirius.

"She asked you a question, Kreacher," Sirius says firmly, his voice strong and unwavering.

" _Filthy_ besmirchment on the Ancient and-"

"Noble House of Black-" Sirius cut the House Elf off, "-enough with the whole blood traitor spiel and tell us if Walburga is home."

Kreacher's eyes widen much further this time and he hisses in disgust, "you dare speak Mistress's name!"

Dorea is about to retort when the door swings open harshly, and Kreacher is knocked out of the way.

Hermione swallows quickly as she sees the woman she has only seen previously in her portrait, screaming vile, terrible things.

"Aunt Dorea...to what do I owe this visit," Walburga asks coldly, not even bothering to hide the contempt in her tone.

Walburga is a tall woman, and once she may have been very pretty, but now her features sink into her face too much, dark, puffy eyebags, sharp cheekbones that jut out under her skin, and she looks too thin to be eating properly-her emerald green formal robes that cinch in at her waist, with the skirt flaring outwards, hang off of her frame, and they are buttoned all the way up her neck. The only piece of skin showing is her face and her hands. Her dark hair is twisted into a tight bun on top of her head that pulls her skin back from her forehead sharply.

"We have some business to attend to," Dorea smiles curtly, but Hermione can tell that it's taking everything in her not to hex Walburga black and blue.

"Is that so?" Walburga sneers, sighing heavily. "I suppose you may come in, Orion is out at the moment, but I'll have Regulus come down from his room."

At the mention of Regulus, Sirius's grip on her hand only tightens.

"Who is she?" Walburga asks as they all enter the house, the door slamming shut as soon as they are all in; her cold gaze is boring into Hermione's face, scrutinising her methodically. She is completely ignoring Sirius and Hermione doesn't know if that's a good thing or not.

"She is a friend," Dorea says, not elaborating on any details.

"A _friend_ ," Walburga repeats. "By friend do you mean _Mudblood_? It would only make sense that the worthless thing it's attached to would find a Mudblood to soil itself with."

"Niece...I suggest you mind your tongue before I remove it," Dorea says sweetly.

Walburga snorts, "threatening me in my own house, have you no tact Aunt?"

"If you say anything about my friend or _my_ son again, I will flay you where you stand and place your bloody carcass on your bed so that your spineless husband can see it perfectly when he returns," Dorea says airily, but the underlying threat in her tone is crystal clear.

Walburga's eyes narrow to slits, but she refrains from saying anything further on the matter. Instead she turns to Kreacher who is wobbling on his feet a little, but stands at attention when he notices his Mistress's eyes on him. "Fetch Regulus and tell him to come to the Drawing Room. Inform him that we have... _guests_."

"Yes, Mistress," Kreacher bows deeply before vanishing into thin air.

Somehow, the house seems colder than when they first came to Grimmauld Place in the summer before her fifth year. Colder and more lonely.

Walburga leads them past the foyer and down a corridor to their left, not before they pass by a wall which is lined with the mounted heads of past House Elves that have served the Black Household throughout the years; they were all shapes and sizes, their skin looked rubbery and tough now, but had survived for years and years with extremely strong preservation charms.

At the very end of the narrow hall, adorned with paintings of Sirius's ancestors-whose eyes follow them warily as they pass by them, but they all remain silent, abnormally silent, so much so that their silence only stands out more and sends a chill down Hermione's spine-is the drawing room, the door is slightly ajar. Walburga pushes it open with the toe of her expensive pointy boots, the scales seem to shimmer in the darkness.

The room is grand, dreary and miserable all at the same time. There is a sparkling chandelier that catches the tiniest bit of light that is filtering through the crack in the thick and heavy black curtains Walburga has in front of the two windows on the left hand side of the room that looks out onto the street.

Walburga waves her spindly-slightly crooked at the top-dogwood wand and the candles in the room that are held in cast iron candle holders along the walls all come to life. The room doesn't look anywhere near as dreary as it had a few moments prior.

The fireplace mantle has a few pictures on it, but the dust covering them makes the contents indiscernible, and their silver frames are tarnished and in desperate need of polishing. The room looks like all the spare furniture that has started to rot was shoved in here, the entire right hand side is piled high with broken cabinets, damp and mildew stricken couches, chairs, the upholstery looking as if it was ready to fall right off of their frames. A chest of drawers that is missing a couple drawers is shoved in right hand corner right behind the door.

The left hand side of the room looks like the remnants of its' previous glory, a long table stretched from under one window to the next, its' top dark wood and the legs made from gold. An array of liquor in translucent glass bottles of varying sizes are gathered in the middle, on top of a dinghy looking silver tray. A few feet in front of it is a plum coloured couch with short, clawed feet and a broad back, the middle of the cushions dips inwards where a matching button secures them in place. Off to the side is a matching armchair of a similar style.

The smell of the room is enough to make Hermione cough gently, and her eyes start to water.

"Love what you've done with the place," Dorea drawls, grimacing at the state of the place.

"We don't particularly use this room much anymore, but I thought it was the best place to bring you," Walburga smiles toothily-the first time Hermione has ever seen the woman smile, and she desperately wishes she hadn't. Walburga's teeth are slightly crooked at the front, but it gives her face an eerie and dark look to it that had been absent until a few seconds ago. _I hope our plan works_ , Hermione prays silently, glad for the warmth from Sirius's hand, it seems to be the only thing anchoring her to this plane of existence. There is something entirely too bizarre about this situation for it to be real.

Dorea tuts her teeth at Walburga before withdrawing her wand from her coat, Hermione hears her whisper, " _scourgify_ ," at the couch before sitting primly on as little of the cushion as she possibly can, she shrugs her coat off and places it on the arm of the couch with a disgruntled expression.

Walburga strides over to the armchair and sits down, leaning back, one hand in her lap, the other on the chair's arm, her chin raised. Hermione can't help but think that she looks like the queen of this desecrated and moldy place. She fits right in.

From Sirius's expression Hermione guesses that this is nothing like how his house used to look, the shock is clear from his features, and she gentle places a hand on his elbow and leads him over to the couch. Dorea is sitting closest to Walburga, Hermione in the middle and Sirius on the end.

"Now, what do you want?" Walburga asks bluntly, no more beating around the bush. The creepy smile is long gone, all that's left is a sallow face of a woman who looks years older than her time; she is nineteen years younger than Dorea, but she looks almost double her Aunt's age.

"Regulus."

"Pardon?" Walburga's eyes narrow to slits, and Hermione notes the vice grip she has on the armchair arm.

"Regulus Arcturus Black," Dorea repeats as if she is talking about the weather.

"What could you possibly want with _my_ son. _My_ darling boy. _My_ heir. He's the good son, he isn't a disappointment, disobedient or worthless scum," Walburga leans forward then, baring her teeth.

Hermione decides in that moment to reward herself later by watching Remus help Charlus in the gardens (they had briefly discussed it that morning at breakfast) for not scoffing or laughing at Walburga. _If only she knew. Based on when Regulus dies in our time and dimension, he probably already defected at this point._ Yes, for not laughing at Walburga would find a nice slice of chocolate cake, a tall glass of lemonade and watch a sweaty Remus partake in a good spot of manual labour.

"Mother, Kreacher said we have guests-" the voice at the door cuts through the thick tension that had built up in the last few moments, and Hermione turns to see Regulus. Not a small, slightly blurry picture that Sirius had kept in his robes after he was released from Azkaban-even though he hadn't known of his brother's part in the defeat of Voldemort, or the picture Slughorn had had on his shelves that had all his prized students over the years in one place. She sees him for the first time in the flesh.

Regulus Black looks strikingly similar to his brother, but his features are more boyish and whimsical. There are small smile lines by the corners of his mouth, but at the moment he doesn't look like he's ever smiled in his life. He is staring, dumbstruck at Sirius. His eye shape is a bit rounder, softer than Sirius's. Their face structure is the same, but Regulus's face is a tad longer and his hair is cut short, barely a few inches away from his scalp. He's wearing casual emerald day robes, and on his feet are simple black leather enclosed shoes. It's his eyes that really stay with Hermione, they burn and imprint themselves in her mind; they are kind, gentle.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Regulus whispers, and he winces when he notes that he said that aloud.

"Good to see you too, Reggie," Sirius says weakly, his voice is trembling, but Hermione only squeezes his hand tighter, as if to remind him that he's not alone.

"DON'T SPEAK TO HIM YOU VILE LITTLE-" Walburga starts to scream, her face contorts into an ugly, twisted expression that Hermione didn't know was humanly possible, but before she can finish whatever it was she was going to say Dorea silences her.

"I told you I'd rid you of your tongue," Dorea sighs at Walburga, whose eyes are wide as she moves her mouth wildly, Hermione catches a glimpse inside her mouth and sees that she no longer has a tongue.

Dorea is twirling her wand in between her fingers, "now are you going to behave or do I have to rid you of another body member, next time I won't be as nice."

Walburga merely glowers at Dorea, but leans back in her seat, cowed into obedience. Dorea waves her wand once more and Walburga says, "you bitch."

"Is that any way to treat the one gracious enough to give you back your wretched tongue?" Dorea cocks her head at Walburga in pity, "tsk tsk, dear. I really question how you raised such lovely young men."

Dorea opens her mouth to speak again, but Regulus cuts in, eyes wide, taking a huge step into the room, "someone want to tell me what in Salazar's name is going on."

"You're coming with us," Hermione says firmly, the first time she'd spoken aloud since being here. Which is not missed on Walburga's part.

" _Mudblood-_ " Walburga snarls, straightening up, "-you are not taking my son anywhere."

A light, tinkling laugh erupts from Dorea's lips, "oh that's precious. You thought it was optional? The only person who has any say about if he wishes to come with us or not is Regulus."

"What do you mean come with you?" Regulus frowns, ignoring the hissing noise coming from between his Mother's teeth.

"We know you've defected, or you're about to...it's a long story, but I know what you found out about Voldemort, and I know if you do it alone you're going to die," Hermione says curtly, and Regulus instinctively takes a small step back, eyes filling with horror and fear, flicking between them and his Mother.

"That's preposterous. Regulus is loyal to the Dark Lord," Walburga growls, abruptly standing up, and she draws her wand on Dorea.

"Control your Mudblood and GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

"Regulus, we can help you," Hermione says, not looking at anyone else but him, she trusts Dorea and Sirius to stop Walburga from hexing her if it comes to it.

"STOP TALKING TO HIM," Walburga screeches, it's a grating, shrill sound and Hermione flinches but she doesn't break eye contact with Regulus.

"I swear, we can help you-"

"I SAID STOP TALKING TO HIM. _AVADA-_ " Walburga starts, wand pointing directly at Hermione, lunging forward, but Dorea says something under her breath and Walburga stops short. Gasping for air, and Dorea gives her niece an almost sad look before she says, "You brought this on yourself Wallie. I want to say you were a pleasant child at least...but you weren't."

Walburga drops her wand, her eyes bulging out of their sunken sockets slightly before she holds her diaphragm. Then Hermione sees it, the crimson pouring from her onto the floor, and she sees the small cuts in the fabric on Walburga's clothes, and the way her skin seems to split open all at once. Then she coughs once and a spurt of blood comes bubbling out of her throat, pouring out onto her chin. She's suffocating on her own blood, Hermione notes, but she's not horrified. Maybe it is all the things she had seen in the second Wizarding War. The atrocities that could be committed by any and everyone. She doesn't feel anything when she sees Walburga fall limply to the ground, and _that_ scares her.

"She's...she's dead," Sirius murmurs softly, looking down at the woman who had given birth to him with conflicting feelings.

"She is. Now. I suspect the only one Kreacher will listen to is you Regulus," Dorea says simply, she shudders at the sight of Walburga bleeding out and her last breath shuddering from her lips, but she seems to file away any horror she feels about what she's done for later. They have more pressing matters to deal with.

Regulus is silent, flabbergasted, his eyes are glued to his dead Mother. A range of emotions crosses his face, as if he doesn't know how to feel. What to say, what to do. A single tear rolls down his cheek.

"Regulus, dear," Dorea says softly, she's crossed the room in the time Hermione had taken to process what had happened. She's standing right next to Regulus, and he flinches harshly when her fingers touch his arm.

"Don't touch me."

"Regulus, you can either get Kreacher, and anything you value, bring it with you and come with us...or you can wait here for your Father to return and be stuck in service to a madman. The choice is yours. You don't even need to stay with us. If you wish to come with us now and leave at any point...that's fine as well, but you need to decide quickly," Dorea says gently, clasping her hands in front of her.

Regulus ponders what she's said for several long moments, mulling it around in his mind. He then looks at Sirius and Hermione and says, "fine."

Fifteen minutes later Regulus has a knapsack filled with clothes, picture frames, photo albums and everything else he values-including a small dragon plush toy that he had been given as a small lad. Kreacher tried to attack Hermione since she was the only one he wasn't bound to serve by blood and duty, but Regulus called him off and told him to calm down. That they were leaving Grimmauld Place and that he was loyal to the Black family now, including Dorea and Sirius, and by extension any descendants of Dorea. Kreacher had cradled himself like a wounded animal as headed towards the floo, slowly trailing behind them.

Sirius went first, followed by Hermione-who smiled encouragingly at Regulus before she went through-then Regulus. Kreacher pauses before he goes through, glaring up at Dorea before sulking as he walks into the flames. Dorea turns back to the rest of the house, knowing the portraits had charms on them so they wouldn't be damaged.

" _Incendio!_ " Dorea says into the gloomy house, flames licking and spurting from her wand and quickly devouring anything it could get its' hands on.

With a sad smile she turned on her heel and stepped into the swirling green flames, which licked at the orange ones before slowly dying down, the heated embers the only thing left to indicate they had ever been there.

 _One down. Many more to go._


	16. Happy Birthday Remus!

**MY DARLINGS. DARLINGS!**

 **So. There are over 230 reviews on Dalliance atm...LIke. WHAT. That's almost more than my Sirimione (Time Travel? Piece of Cake.) Just omg. I'm just stunned. Honestly I am. THANK YOU SO MUCH.**

 **Okay everyone. I warn you. There's some...fun in this chapter (I had to pause whilst writing okay, and take a moment, that should be a clue). You've been WARNED.**

 **Everyone's reactions to Dorea being the badass she is, and looking forward to how Regulus is going to fit into the story now have about made my week. Really. My year. You've all been so lovely and it's made me indescribably happy.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx I love you. Your reviews give me life. HENNY AND WORTHFULL. YOUR REVIEWS THOUGH. This chapter is for Caleb, Henny and Worthfull as well cause I just can't WAIT to see their reactions.**

* * *

 **Saturday, March 10th, 1979**

 **Remus Lupin's Birthday**

 **Potter Manor**

Time had passed quickly since the golden trio had arrived. Yet simultaneously it also somehow seemed like an eternity.

Once or twice the trio had forgotten to put silencing charms on whoever's room they were sharing on that particular night and the other occupants in the Manor had rushed to the source of the screaming that rebounded and sprung about the corridors, hallways and rooms.

Hermione spent most of her days with Lily and Dorea making plans and learning more about their dimension; she was trying to ascertain where the similarities ended and where the differences between their dimensions began.

Harry and Ron spent their time out in the Orchards, flying or simply lazing the days away. When James, Sirius and Remus weren't on missions for the Order they would join them.

Just a few days ago Lily had been relaxing on a lounge chair in the Sun room, soaking up all the sunlight that she could, and Harry had gone in the room in search of some solace. She had grinned at him and patted the chair, Harry had hesitated before joining her. Lily pulled him back until his head was resting on her shoulder and he was settled between her legs. She had stroked his hair and they had had a lovely conversation about things that they liked.

James had found them both slumbering a few hours later and couldn't help the smile that spread across his face.

Charlus spent less and less time at the Ministry-where he worked as an Unspeakable-Voldemort's men had infiltrated the Ministry and one never knew who you could trust these days, especially amongst people that dealt with keeping secrets for a living. So to occupy himself he spent more and more time out in the gardens tending to his plants, and at home with his family.

Remus wished he could have seen more of Hermione in the last few weeks, but Dumbledore had been assigning him multiple stakeout missions as of late-which meant he was only coming and going from the Manor for the most part these days.

Last night he had trudged into the Manor, knackered and covered in a couple days worth of grime. He had barely had enough energy to shower. So he had tiredly crossed his room from his bathroom, rubbing his damp hair with a big, white fluffy towel, crawling onto his bed and passing out as soon as his head hit his pillow, the towel discarded on the floor beside his bed. He hadn't even bothered to pull on any clothes.

Which is why he is currently in a slightly uncomfortable situation.

"I'm sorry! I thought I would just come and wish you happy birthday early!" Hermione stammers, backing him now, hands holding her red face-the blush is creeping up all the way to her ears.

Remus is partially horrified that he just flashed Hermione _everything_ , but can't help the small smile that touches his face as he climbs off of the bed to the far side of the room, he pads over the cupboard, reaching in and grabbing a pair of navy blue boxers.

Remus quickly puts one foot in after the other and pulls them up so they are on his hips-riding a little low, but everything is _now_ covered.

He's smiling because her eyes lingered, and before she had been riddled with embarrassment he saw her bite her lip. It's been an almost playful dance, neither of them has said anything or done anything yet, but part of Remus just _knows_ that something is bound to happen eventually. It could be all in his imagination though, which is why he's waiting for her to make the first move.

"Are you decent now?"

"Decent enough, yea," Remus smirks, crossing his arms over his chest and playing with his lip ring unconsciously as Hermione turns around slowly.

"M-Mipsy made a cake, and I volunteered to come and get you...do you want to put on anything else or are you going to go downstairs like that?" Hermione asks, her eyes skyward, her fingers fiddling with the bottom of her oversized white jumper-it was one of his coincidentally, she had borrowed it on a cold night they had spent together in the library a couple weeks back.

"Is there something wrong with how I'm dressed now?" Remus asks teasingly, walking around the bed, letting his arms fall to his sides-swinging gently as he walks-and he stops directly in front of her, right into her line of sight.

"Remus Lupin," Hermione says softly, his name just sounds so right falling off of her tongue and her eyes flutter half closed.

"Hermione Granger."

"I think we both know the answer to that question," Hermione breathes, and he can hear her heartbeat quicken and it takes everything in him in that moment not to pull her flush against him and claim her lips-her plump, pink lips that are slightly swollen from her always gnawing on them. How he wants to gnaw on them for her.

"Really? I don't think I do-" Remus leans a bit closer to her, their faces inches apart and close enough for him to see all the small details in her eyes, her thick eyelashes and how her bottom lip is trembling. However, just as he thinks he may do something about that, the door bursts open, and with it comes one very rambunctious raven haired wizard.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOONY!" Sirius freezes in the doorway when he sees how close Hermione and Remus are. Remus straightens up, glaring at his best mate over Hermione's head. Sirius looks genuinely sorry and unsure what he's meant to do, and it certainly doesn't help that he has exploding poppers gathered in his hand.

Exploding poppers are an invention they came up with in the middle of their Sixth year, one throws them up into the air and says a small incantation and they explode-raining confetti, glitter and occasionally small candies.

"Thanks, Pads," Remus smiles tightly, cursing mentally as Hermione takes that moment to scurry out of the room, glancing quickly over her shoulder at him before leaving.

"Sorry," Sirius says sheepishly.

"You're in here because you feel awkward with Regulus downstairs, right?" Remus raises a knowing eyebrow.

Sirius groans, slumping against the doorframe. He's wearing a pair of cotton black pyjama pants and nothing else. His inked chest is on full display; his tattoos seem to breathe and feel how troubled their owner is by how subdued and little they are moving as opposed to normal.

Sirius rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and then looks at Remus, looking lost and a touch dazed.

"I don't know how to act around him. We spent most of our adolescent life living vastly different lives...we didn't interact much at home...when I ran away a couple years ago, all communication we had-what little it was at the time-ceased."

Remus sighs, he remembers how troubled Sirius was after their first year when Regulus had been instructed by their Mother not to talk to Sirius during the summer break. James had invited Sirius to stay at Potter Manor during Christmas and they had all stayed at school during the Easter break. It had broken Sirius's heart and Remus doesn't think that Sirius has ever actually faced his emotions and feelings concerning his brother.

"Well. He's downstairs and he's probably feeling out of place and alone. He's surrounded by people he doesn't know in a foreign place."

Sirius sighs softly, blinking hard before he straightens up, tucking the poppers into his pyjama pants pockets. "You're right...as per usual," Sirius smiles wryly, and he strides over to Remus, pulling him in for a quick hug. "Happy birthday, Moony."

"Thanks, mate-" Remus laughs lightly, clapping Sirius on the back, "-I heard Mipsy made a cake, is it-"

"Chocolate? Of course, mate," Sirius laughs heartily and starts for the door. Remus feels a twinge of pain in his shoulder and a wave of nausea hits him like a ton of bricks.

Remus stops harshly and has to put a hand on the wall to his left. The smile on Sirius's face dies instantly.

"Moony? Remus! Remus!" Sirius is shouting and hurrying towards him, but he sounds so far away, like Remus is submerged under water and all of his senses are failing him. He's taken his daily dose of Wolfsbane so far for the week, so why are the symptoms so _horrid_? There's three more days until the Full Moon, _three_.

His legs wobble like jelly and then he's falling. Falling. Falling. Falling. Vision cloudy like he's looking through a grimy, translucent piece of plastic. His head is spinning and Sirius's features distort and twist strangely. It feels as if he's floating but at the same time as if the weight of the ocean is pressing down on his chest.

 _Agony._ He hasn't felt this bad in the week before the Full Moon since he was going through growth spurts a few years back.

Then caramel and vanilla fills his senses, and he can sense _her._ Her mere presence cuts through the pain and somehow makes it so it isn't as excruciating. He feels her lift his head into her lap and then she's stroking his hair and making soothing noises. It's the last thing he hears before everything fades away.


	17. Bad News and Good News

**MY LOVES. MY DEARS.**

 **Your REACTIONS. OMG.**

 **The reaction to the last chapter was a bit overwhelming, because almost all of you were yelling at me for leaving it on such a cliffhanger! I loved every bit of it.**

 **I am a massive tease for what I did with Hermione and Remus last chapter. I know. I am not sorry, nope, nope, nope. ;)**

 **It seems like my muse likes me this week, because I've been able to properly write two Dalliance chapters and start another one. Chapter 18 has been immensely fun to write...but the ending is going to make me cry and I simply know you are all going to yell at me.**

 **I decided to keep my chin up and ignore any backlash I may get and I also posted a Fall Through Time chapter for any of you that read it. It's a Dramione time travel story with a major dose of Remione for a good while. Not sure why I've mentioned this.**

 **Special mention to Worthfull! Who left me a review on tumblr with a play by play of her emotions via appropriate gifs. Which was fucking amazing. AMAZING. Henny and Caleb's reviews as always, are brilliant. Brilliant I say.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

White noise is buzzing in his ears, but through it he hears a vicious snarl. "When I find Mundungus Fletcher I can going to _wring_ his neck." _Hermione_. Remus can recognise her voice in an instant now.

"I agree," Remus hears. _Mum._ "Though I personally vote we castrate him so he can't reproduce and poison the gene pool any further."

"I-wait, you know about genes?"

"I found a Muggle biology book several years ago and I found it riveting so I got a few more. Science is terribly fascinating."

"I'd love to talk to you about it sometime...anyway, back to the original point, what are we going to do about Fletcher?"

Remus's hearing is returning but he doesn't have the energy to pry open his eyes as of yet, especially since his head feels like it's splitting open.

"He gave us a bad batch of Wolfsbane, the shifty bastard. I should have known better, but we were running low and Dumbledore said that Fletcher had come into some recently. Another thing to add to the growing list of things and reasons why Albus Dumbledore and I are going to cross wandstreams."

"I'm surprised Remus didn't collapse after the first dose, the potion's balance was horribly off with the amount of Wolfsbane that was in there, which of course made it toxic."

Remus finally manages to open his eyes, slowly, with the bright light flooding in from his window-the curtains are drawn and he can feel a light breeze from outside brushing across his skin-assaulting his corneas. He has to blink a few times before the blurry images in front of him come into focus.

Caramel and vanilla floats into his nostrils and he drinks it in deeply, the scent rejuvenating him slowly but surely.

"Remus!" Her voice is music to his ears, and by the time he fully focuses on his surroundings she's right by his side and her gentle hand is slipping into his rough one. She's like a soothing balm spreading across his haggard body.

"Love," Remus murmurs groggily, his throat feels rubbed raw and bruised. _Beat. Beat. Beat_. Her pulse jumps at the term of endearment and it causes a small, weak smile to brush his lips.

Even feeling like he'd been dragged to hell and back he can still make her blush, and he counts that as a tiny victory, and he can only hope he doesn't look as shite as he feels.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asks worriedly, and he then sees that everyone is gathered in his room. Even Regulus-the younger male looks uncertain about his place in all this and is standing apart from everyone else.

Mipsy is standing at the bottom of his bed, hands on her hips, looking as if she's trying to figure out a complex problem.

"Grand," Remus responds, but he can see that no one is buying it.

"Do you want the good news or the bad news first, Moony?" Lily asks, stepping around James and Sirius-who have unconsciously put themselves between Remus and everyone else, and he can only chalk it up to pack mentality.

"Might as well get the bad news out of the way...even though I think I can guess what it is," Remus sighs softly, he's a fairly intelligent chap and from what he heard of Dorea and Hermione's conversation he is almost certain he knows what Lily is about to say.

"Since you didn't take the proper doses…" Lily trails off, biting her lip.

"I'll become a mindless monster, fantastic. The wards probably need to be checked so we can ensure that I can't get in the house," Remus says bitterly, sitting up abruptly, ignoring the dizziness and the horrible way his gut twists. Hermione's hand moves to rest firmly on his upper back in between his shoulder blades. His eyes are unfocused and he can't see straight, so even though he desperately wishes to thank her, he can't.

"We'll be with you Moony, like always," James says then, and Remus turns his head in the direction of his voice, even though his best mate is a blur surrounded by almost blinding light. Bright, multicoloured spots are dancing in front of his eyes.

"Yes, we will," Lily says. Grasping James's hand as he moved to stand beside her.

It's amazing to him to think that in two weeks Lily is going to be Missus Lily Potter; they decided that they didn't want to make too much of a fuss and that they wanted to get married as soon as possible-with the war and all.

Dorea and Hermione were in charge of helping Lily plan the wedding, and they had been doing a bang up job of it so far as far as he could tell. They'd figured out floral arrangements, catering, guests along with a myriad of other things. The main thing they needed to do now was find a wedding dress for Lily and bridesmaids dresses. They were also all discussing how Harry, Ron and Hermione were going to attend. Harry and Ron would of course stick out like a sore thumb and cause an uproar of questions, they would be able to get away with saying Hermione is one of Lily's friends or relatives.

Remus's vision stabilizes and he can see everyone properly again, and then he does something impulsive, he doesn't think about it too much, he just does it. He leans into Hermione's side and then her hand wraps around his shoulder and he sighs softly. She feels fucking amazing, his forehead is resting against her ribs and his cheek is against her hip. There's a small urge to turn his head and sink his teeth into her hip, but he ignores it because he's exhausted.

"Wait, you're an animagus?" Harry asks Lily, his mouth agape.

"Yes, course. Was the other Lily not?"

"Not as far as we know," Harry responds instantly, brow puckered, crossing his arms over his chest as looks down as his feet in deep thought.

"We started the process ourselves...but it we only got to partial transformation," Ron adds, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against the wall.

"Really? What are your forms?" Sirius asks, genuinely curious.

Harry pauses, his eyes flickering with something Remus can't quite discern. He swallows thickly and then says, "a Stag."

There's a silence that seems to press down on all of them, and then Ron slices right through it when he grunts out begrudgingly, "a Pointer...Pointer dog."

"The gun dogs?" Remus clears his throat before asking.

"Yes, Hermione informed me in _depth_ what the breed is used for," Ron grumbles.

"Cute," Sirius smirks.

"Shut up, Black...wait till you hear Mione's. You're going to love it," Ron smirks smugly then, all of his irritability vanishing away like a shroud had been lifted. Ron's blue eyes twinkle as he catches Hermione's eye, and Remus can't help but note the exchange.

"What's your form, dear?" Dorea asks. Remus had almost forgotten Charlus and her were in the room, they had moved to the foot of his bed, on his right.

"A wolf," Hermione says, sticking her chin high in the air.

"You're shitting me," Sirius laughs in disbelief, clapping his hands together once, and then rubbing them together briefly.

"No. Sirius Orion Black. I am not _shitting_ you," Hermione snarls. _Of course she's a wolf_ , Remus laughs a little cynically to himself. Of course.

If there weren't other people in the room he would pull her onto the bed with him and just hold her. That's all he wanted to do right now. To hold her and to sleep. Godric is he exhausted.

"That's fucking amazing," Sirius grins madly, grey eyes practically glowing.

Remus decides to put them all back on track, and he sighs before asking, "what was the good news?"

"Pardon?" James asks, frowning.

"The good news," Remus repeats, his throat dry and his tongue feels as heavy as a slab of lead.

"Oh!" Ron exclaims, "good news is we get to get rid of Fletcher. He always was a sodding prick."


	18. Moonlight and Chocolate Cake

**MY LOVES! MY DARLINGS!**

 **I know I updated on Saturday, but because of how much love you've all been showing I decided to update a little early ;) You've all been delightful, and you make me so, so happy with all of your darling reviews!**

 **I must warn you, part of this chapter hurt me to write. I'm not sure if it will hurt all of your hearts like it did mine, but I just wanted to warn you all.**

 **ALSO. Currently freaking out, like proper, don't know what to do with myself freaking out, because Fall Through Time is SEVEN followers away from 800. It's absolutely mental and it's terribly surreal, and I can't handle it. I just can't believe it.**

 **The number of followers on this story bewilders me constantly, and I am just so happy you're all enjoying Dalliance so much :D**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Sable and Lais xxx my loves *hearts***

* * *

It's quiet. Dead quiet, and all he has to keep him company is the almost full moon shining mockingly through his window.

Remus is sitting upright on his bed, a mound of pillows behind his back to keep him propped up, and his sheets are all tangled up at the bottom of his bed.

Less than three days now, and it will be his first full moon without Wolfsbane to ease him through it in over a year.

Something is nagging him about the whole situation, Fletcher had to have known the potion was bad, had to know they would figure it out. He never took such big risks. He would have sold it to someone he was never going to run into again. Normally if he'd done something like this he would be halfway to Ireland by now.

Things just weren't adding up.

 _Thinking about it isn't going to change anything,_ Remus sighs heavily through his nostrils, feeling his chest compress and then expand when he takes a small intake of breath a few moments later.

He's still wearing the same thing he was that morning, he hadn't had it in him to get out of bed and change or shower.

The others had left him shortly after delivering the various bits of news to him; they wanted to let him rest, and he insisted that James's offer to celebrate Remus's birthday on his birthday at the end of the month was brilliant and he was extremely grateful. (Lily and James had decided not to go on a honeymoon after their wedding, with the war they didn't think it appropriate to run away for a week.)

Hermione lingered a beat longer than the rest. Staring at him with those knowing, beautiful brown eyes and instructing him firmly to get some rest as she left.

He'd drifted off for a little while before waking up just before dusk, the last dregs of the sunlight kissing the horizon. He watched it disappear, leaving behind a inky blue sky, with bright stars and with his cold mistress of the sky taunting him as she brushed her fingers across the land.

A soft click from his door on his right makes him flinch. Remus's head snaps sharply in the direction of the noise and is greeted by a lovely vision in red.

She's wearing an oversized, long sleeved maroon shirt, it cuts off just past her mid thigh and as far as he can see she isn't wearing anything else. Wild, unruly, honey brown curls are twisted into an elaborate mess on top of her head and her wand is loosely clasped in her hand.

Remus chuckles softly when he sees what Hermione is carrying.

She closes the door with the bottom of her foot and she pads towards the bed, making her way around to him.

She places one of Dorea's nice china plates on his lap-and laying on top of it, looking decadent, is a huge hunk of velvety chocolate cake. The chocolate frosting is thick and it's in the middle of the cake as well as on top-it is laying on its side, and sticking out from the top is a single, thin, purple candle (at least it looks purple in the light).

Hermione is partially blocking the moonlight and he's grateful for that.

"It may not be the celebration you wanted or deserved, but I thought you should still get a piece of cake," Hermione smiles shyly, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Thank you, Hermione. You didn't have to do this," Remus says, voice laced with gratitude.

"I wanted to," Hermione says as she points her wand at the candle and whispers something. A second later the candle's wick is on fire and its small orange flame is swaying gently.

Remus honestly didn't know what to wish for. There were so many things he wanted. Most of which would never happen. No longer being a werewolf. For this war to be over and for no harm to befall anyone he cared about.

Remus glances at Hermione briefly and then he leans forward, pursing his lips slightly and he hesitates for a moment before blowing the candle out.

Hermione easily reaches over and plucks the candle out of the cake-the bottom covered in bits of frosting and cake crumbs. She gently places it on the edge of the plate away from the cake.

"You want some?" Remus asks as Hermione hands him a fork. Where she got it from he has no idea, but he refrains from asking.

Hermione looks at him dubiously, and then she sits on the edge of the bed beside him, her feet dangling off the side of the bed, she twists so that she can face him fully.

"You're offering me chocolate cake? Remus Lupin, will wonders never cease?"

"Do you want a bite or not?" Remus chuckles softly, holding out a small forkful in her direction.

"How generous," Hermione giggles before accepting the fork and eating the cake.

Hermione hands him back the fork by the handle and he accepts it, and neither of them says anything for a few minutes as Remus eats his cake. Hermione is staring quietly out at the moon, a sad look in her eyes.

Remus finishes his cake and puts the plate on his bedside table, and he leans towards Hermione-wincing slightly from the jolt of pain that sparks up his spine as he shifts.

"Hermione," Remus whispers her name almost reverently, and her face is mere inches away from his when she turns to look at him-eyes widening a fraction at his proximity.

Remus's right leg is outstretched behind Hermione, the other hanging off the side of the bed; Hermione's arse is almost touching his leg and the wild curls that have sprung free from her bun are brushing the small of her back.

"Remus," Hermione murmurs. He hears her heart beating quickly, he hears her fingers twist into the sheets on his bed, her hears her breath tremble out of her.

Remus shakes his head lightly, a smile brushing his lips, and Hermione purses her lips, brow puckering.

"What?" Hermione asks.

"Nothing. I was just thinking about how beautiful you are," Remus says softly, hazel eyes flecked with gold piercing into her warm brown ones. The moon was shining across half her face, the other half covered in shadow, but that didn't stop him from seeing the pink crawl onto her cheeks.

"Don't be daft," Hermione says, shaking her head in disbelief. She moves to stand up, but he deftly catches her wrist.

"Can you stay?"

"Stay?" Hermione raises an eyebrow, lips twisting in amusement.

"Just to sleep. I don't want to be alone tonight...I won't do anything, I promise," Remus says seriously, letting go of Hermione's wrist and scooting backwards on the bed.

Hermione deliberates for a good few minutes, and Remus holds his breath for the entire duration if it.

Then, a dam of relief burst in his chest when she utters two syllables, "okay."

Hermione shifts and then crawls on all fours to the other side of the bed, lying down on her side and facing him. He slides down in the bed, and he sits up and leans down to grab the sheets that were bunched up at the bottom of his bed; he drags them upwards, making sure to cover Hermione as well.

"Good night, Remus," Hermione whispers, her eyelids already drooping-it had been a arduously long day.

"Good night, Hermione," Remus replies, his own eyelids heavy with sleep, the image of Hermione slumbering gently beside him blurring around the edges.

Remus and Hermione fall asleep that night, their hands almost brushing, their warmth blending together under the sheets, and their ankles tangling together at some point. The cruel moonlight pouring across them.

* * *

 **Tuesday, 13th March, 1979**

 **Full Moon**

 **Potter Manor**

 **Orchards**

The pain intensifies by the second, his blood feels like it's on fire, boiling his insides.

His skull feels like it's being hacked away at by a dull axe, his eyes feel like needles are being stabbed into the back of them.

Remus is curled up in a ball on the damp ground, knees tucked to his chest, hands clutching at his head as he screams his throat raw. Agony. It hasn't been this bad in years, but this is what a bad batch of Wolfsbane does.

Remus is screaming and _Moony_ is howling inside of him, yelping alongside him as he too feels Remus's pain.

" _Fuck. It's gotten worse, I found it. I hope you're right about this Pads_ ," Remus can barely hear his voice through the pain, the pounding in his head, through his own screams.

 _Caramel and vanilla_. The smells instantly cut through the pain, parting it sharply. It's nowhere near gone, but at least he doesn't feel like his limbs are tearing away from his body anymore. He clutches whatever the hand is giving him. A beige jumper. He buries his face in it, and he would be downright terrified by the impact _she_ has on him at any other time, but right now, right now he doesn't care one iota.

"Shit. That actually worked," James murmurs in disbelief, still kneeling beside Remus, rubbing his friend's back.

Remus's body is trembling still from the excruciating pain, and he finds that his throat is tender and sore from all the screaming. He still manages to rasp out, "thanks, Prongs."

"We're here for you, Moony. Always."

Remus is exhausted, and he knows the moon is almost full in the sky. He can _feel_ it. He is dreading it, he's _scared_. He _hates_ this. Not being in control. Giving in wholly and totally to _Moony_ 's whims and instincts.

It happens in the blink of an eye, a single yelp of pain escapes his throat as his spine breaks and his body curls in on itself.

James moves back a fraction, but he doesn't shift, not yet.

Remus feels the tears spring from the corner of his eyes as the rest of his bones break and being to re-shape. An electric shock is pulsing through his body and he can't stop the screams this time. Not even Hermione can stop them this time. No matter how much he wishes she could.

He rolls onto his knees as his back arches, the skin rippling as his insides changed. _Find an anchor. Find something. Anything._

All Remus can see is Hermione's face, it's only been a month but he almost can't remember what their lives were like without the golden trio. The concept of life without them now is strange and foreign.

Hermione. Hermione. _Hermione_. Remus chants her name like a lifeline as his face elongates, and his teeth begin to grow.

His pores burn and itch as thick, sandy blonde hair sprouts from them.

His mind is fading, and it gets harder to focus as his pain grows exponentially.

 _Hermione,_ he thinks one final time before everything is fuzzy and is sucked away into darkness, a heavy, pitch black darkness.

* * *

 _Moony_ stands up on all fours, sniffing the air curiously. Carefully appraising the three creatures in front of him.

The huge black dog, its head bowed, but its teeth are bared. The doe and the stag are behind it. Kneeling on their front legs, heads also bowed.

 _Moony_ knows them, they are _Moony's_ friends. He shakes his head furiously, his shiny coat gleaming in the moonlight.

 _Moony_ feels his human slumbering away, which is strange. His human has been awake for all of the moons in recent times that _Moony_ cares to remember.

 _Moony_ hears a rustling in the Orchards behind him and instinctively growls. Noting that it was just the wind blowing about some fallen leaves, he relaxes.

 _Moony_ is tired. Limbs heavy, he paws the ground for a moment before laying down, closing his eyes and he hears his friends gather around him. He decides to join his human, he's exhausted.

The moon watches over as the animals fall asleep, the doe curled into the stag and the dog on the other side of the doe. Creating a bundle of warmth to cocoon the three of them. The werewolf is a foot away, head laying across its crossed paws, in a deep sleep.


	19. Thwarted Plans

**Hello, hello, hello my dears!**

 **I know you all felt my pain when it came to Remus's transformation in the last chapter. I am dreadfully sorry about that. Your reviews as always were absolutely lovely! LOVELY I say! Thank you all so much for all your wonderful reviews, really, I will respond to all of the ones that I can.**

 **This chapter makes me extremely nervous, because I have no idea how any of you are going to react. Hopefully you all like it. Well like is an interesting word considering the contents of this chapter. You all may be a touch angry by the end. The next couple of chapters will be much nicer, trust me, you'll like them.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Sable and Lais xxx my darlings.**

 **(I just know Worthfull, and Henny are going to be screaming at me by the end of this chapter, just know it. Oh how I love you guys xxx)**

* * *

The strong smell of ginger wafts from the piping hot cup of tea that sits on a dainty looking china plate with small cherry blossoms blowing across it.

The teacup is white with a gold trim around the rim and its thin gold handle is glinting in the light.

Sitting at the desk, staring at his teacup is a tall wizard, his hands are resting in his lap, his white beard is long and almost reaches his lap. His blue eyes are blank, glazed over, thick white eyebrows are slightly drawn together, thin pink lips hidden by his mustache and beard are pressing together. He's wearing deep purple, velvet robes with a gold sash loosely tied around his waist.

The afternoon sun is dwindling, the sky painted with bold reds, flirty pinks, startlingly yellows and warm oranges.

The wizard's desk is littered with various piles of parchment, but they are pushed to the outer perimeter of the desk, to the left in front of him is a pot of quills, and the first drawer on the right hand side of the desk is filled with ink pots.

A harsh bang sounds from the door and the wizard purses his lips as a short wizard bursts inside.

The man looks dishevelled, ginger hair rumpled, brown eyes wide as he regains his centre of gravity. He's not a tall man at five foot four, nor is he a very impressive one. His waistcoat is a smidge too tight, there are gaudy gold rings on his fingers.

"Dumbledore!" The man exclaims loudly, heavy feet thumping across the carpeted floor as he heads in Dumbledore's direction.

Dumbledore lifts his chin, a warm expression on his face, eyes twinkling.

"Mundungus, how may I help you?"

"I've bin gettin' complaints I 'ave," Mundungus says, scratching his head as he stops a few feet in front of Dumbledore's desk.

"Complaints?" Dumbledore asks curiously, as if he has no idea what Mundungus could be here for.

"Yes! 'Ad a werewolf nearly bite off me head yesterday. Claimed I sold 'im a bad batch o' Wolfsbane potion. I told 'im tha could'nt be. Tha I 'ad gotten the potion from a reliable source," Mundungus says in a distressed tone, raking a shaky hand through his hair.

"Did you tell him who your source was?" Dumbledore asks softly, expression still warm, but there's an edge of steel to his light blue eyes. Mundungus doesn't notice, too caught up in himself to notice much of anything.

"No. I never reveal my sources," Mundungus mutters absently, starting to pace back and forth in front of the desk, "I don't wan' ta deal with tha man again, whoever you got the Wolfsbane from."

"They'll be dealt with, that I can assure you, Mundungus," Dumbledore smiles warmly, eyes once more twinkling and happy. His face relaxes and he picks up his teacup-it has cooled off significantly-and he takes a long sip.

"Good. I'm glad o' it, Professor Dumbledore," Mundungus sighs in relief. Mundungus turns on his heel, clearly satisfied with their conversation and begins to head for the door.

"Oh, Mundungus," Dumbledore calls after the man, just loud enough for it to reach the other wizard's ears.

"Yes-"

Mundungus glances over his shoulder and as soon as his eyes lock on Dumbledore's, the other man raises his wand and says, " _obliviate._ "

A few minutes later, Dumbledore is once again alone in his office. Pondering once more on the wrench that has been thrust into the works-caught in the gears, foiling his carefully constructed, intricate plans. The aforementioned wrench would be his time travelling friends, they had appeared-literally out of thin air-and everything shifted in a matter of hours. Drastically.

Mundungus's memory of Dumbledore brokering the deal needed to go.

It wasn't the most eloquent plan, but he needs to find a way back into Remus Lupin's good graces.

He would bring some Wolfsbane to Potter Manor over the next few days as a peace offering, to apologise profusely for recommending Mundungus as a supplier. Saying that he should have known better than to deal with the shady businessman.

 _Yes. I need to form a connection with the boy. I **need** him in those wolf packs, I need to know what is happening and how many of them are supporting Voldemort. Remus Lupin has a crucial role to play and I will not let a few teenagers stand in the way of that_, Dumbledore thinks tiredly. He wishes that it didn't have to be this way, but they _must_ win this war. For everyone's sake.

A world where Voldemort wins is a world devoid of love or kindness, and he will not allow that to come to pass.

Which means he needs to have every advantage, to know everything he can.

Dorea Potter will be tricky to deal with. She is no fool and she certainly doesn't like it when people meddle with her family or her affairs. Dumbledore would need to handle her _gently_ , coax her back to his side with extreme caution. As if she was a Monarch butterfly, and he the hand that is trembling as it moves closer, awaiting for the butterfly to flutter into the air and possibly land on his finger.

Yes. His plans may have been changed and altered, but he isn't discouraged. He will find a way, the fate of Wizarding society is resting mainly on his shoulders. He _cannot_ let Voldemort win, and he will do anything to ensure that. _Anything_.


	20. Wedding Bells Are Chiming!

**My dears! It is 2:40 AM and I really should be asleep, but I couldn't sleep and I felt like writing, which is how this chapter came to be.**

 **Sidenote, I noticed three quarters through this chapter that I had included Mary McDonald throughout before I remembered that in this story she is already deceased (she died in chapter two). I did however quite like the description I had written about her, so I'm going to include it at the bottom of the chapter if anyone wants to read it.**

 **I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this chapter, but I do hope you all like it! We meet a few new people and it is the set up for the next couple of chapters, which are going to be quite big.**

 **Thank you all for your lovely reviews! They were amazing and brilliant and I loved them!**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx love you both (and Worthfull and Henny, you dearest of dears).**

* * *

 **Saturday, March 24th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

 **Lily Evans and James Potter's Wedding Day**

 _In our dimension they don't get married until much later in the year. I guess that means things are already different_ , Hermione thinks to herself as she strides down one of the corridors in the West Wing of the Manor. She'd only been on this side of the house properly last night as she made sure Lily had everything she needed.

As per Muggle tradition, the bride and groom did not see each other on the night before the union, or until the actual ceremony began.

Dorea and Hermione have been running around since the crack of dawn ensuring that everything goes off without a hitch.

Hermione is currently on her way back to the room where Lily is getting ready, with the bridesmaids bouquets floating delicately behind her as she moves-Lily's bouquet is cradled in her right arm, her left is holding her wand.

Her heels are clicking against the wooden floorboards and she sees her destination coming up on her left-the white wooden door is cracked slightly and Hermione can hear peals of laughter.

She pushes gently on the door and she can't help but feel a little out of place-as if she's intruding on a private moment.

The girls are all gathered on the far side of the room, smiles still alight on their faces as they turn to look at Hermione.

"Hermione!" Lily exclaims happily.

Hermione shoots the dark red haired girl a small smile as she steps into the room, the bridesmaids bouquets floating around her and moving into the room. Hermione gently shuts the door and heads across the wide room. The windows are wide, and span from the floor to the ceiling on the left and right sides of the far wall. Sitting squarely in the middle, in front of a pure white vanity with three mirrors-the outer two facing inwards at a slight angle-is Lily.

Lily is still wearing a short, white nightgown and a lacy white dressing gown that is undone-the silk sash is brushing the ground, her ankles crossed.

There are four other girls in the room, all curiously looking at Hermione. They are all donned in their navy blue, column style dresses and they are finishing the last touches to their own ensembles.

"So you're the mysterious little witch that no one wants to elaborate on any of the details about where you came from," A frosty blue haired witch says-her hair is cropped just below her ears and there's a thick braid moving across her hairline, starting from the left and there are tiny white flowers tucked into the dips and grooves-pursing her lips and cocking her head to the side in curiousity, she's standing closest to the window on the right hand side of the room

She's short, a little less than five foot four, with hazel green eyes, a small nose, a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks, slightly sharp features, an oval face, slender fingers and a lean frame. She has a small waist, which only makes her hips look much wider than they are.

"Emmeline Vance," the girl says a moment later, introducing herself.

"Hermione Granger," Hermione responds politely, and she then turns to the other girls.

She recognises Alice almost immediately, even though she's younger than when Hermione last saw her in person, and a few other things are different. Her mousey brown hair is cut into a pixie cut, her hair barely a few inches long. Her dark brown eyes are warm and inviting, and there's still a welcoming smile spread across her face, she has slender, delicate features, a long nose, ears that stick out a little-but it only makes her more endearing-dark and thick eyelashes. She's quite tall, at least five foot nine and she has a very slim build, her legs seem to go on for days. "Hello, I'm Alice Brown."

"Nice to meet you, Alice," Hermione says, smiling warmly at the girl as she hands her her bouquet-made up of wildflowers like Lily had requested.

Moving inwards, standing behind Lily with her eyes narrowed a touch is a honey blonde; her wavy long locks are thrown over her shoulders, ending just below the middle of her back. She has deep cerulean blue eyes that reel you in and drown you in their depths. She is the most regal looking of all the girls, posture dead straight, chin held high. Her deft, long fingers are currently in Lily's hair and she hasn't stopped in her endeavours as she twists, twirls and braids Lily's hair into an elaborately messy bun with flyaways expertly placed. She is the tallest of all the girls gathered there-even more so because of the five inch black stilettos on her feet-at five foot ten, and she has a slightly muscular, lithe build. She has fair skin and dusty rose coloured lips.

"This is Marlene McKinnon," Lily supplies after Hermione and Marlene stare at each other for a tense moment with neither looking to break it anytime soon.

"Pleasure," Marlene says icily, her attention going back to Lily's hair, her lips twisting wryly to the side.

On the other side of Lily is a petite, dark chocolate haired girl, with shoulder length, dead straight tresses and a sharp look about her. Her bright blue eyes sparkle with fire and brimstone. She has round features, a dark mole under her right eye, and a small nose. She's about five foot five and she is very curvy, with slightly broad shoulders. "Dorcas Meadowes," the girls says with a wide grin.

"Here you go," Hermione says as she hands a bouquet to Dorcas.

"So, Miss Granger. Tell us more about yourself. Lily has been terribly stingy on the details," Emmeline says, putting her hands on her hips and taking a step towards Hermione, scrutinising her as if Hermione was a specimen she was studying.

"With good reason," Lily says absently, looking in the mirror and trying to catch a glimpse of what Marlene is doing, "I told you, it's need to know. When it becomes pertinent for you darlings to know...you will."

"Lily...you know they're bound to find out eventually, they are in the Order. McGonagall and the others that were there have kept it all hush hush...but still," Hermione sighs, carefully leaning past Lily to place her bouquet on the vanity.

"Find out what?" Marlene asks sharply, pausing momentarily in her work.

"I'm from the future," Hermione says with a heavy sigh, waiting for the girls to laugh or call her a liar. Surprisingly they do none of the aforementioned things, instead they just seem to be more puzzled and curious than before.

"From the future you say," Emmeline says, eyes sparkling with fascination, not an ounce of surprise on her face.

"Yes," Hermione says uncertainly, brow puckering, tucking her wand behind her ear and into her wild curls; she hadn't done anything with them except detangle them in the shower that morning whilst quickly washing her hair-she'd let her curls air dry as she had begun to bustle about the Manor in preparation for the wedding.

"What house were you in?" Marlene asks then, quirking an eyebrow. They are all taking this in stride, and it takes Hermione a few moments to register that Marlene asked her a question-her brain not quite processing what is currently happening.

"Gryffindor-" Hermione pauses and then because it's polite and she can't think of anything else to say, she asks cordially in turn, "you?"

"Slytherin-" Marlene replies easily, and she continues as if she knows what Hermione's next question will be, "-my family has always been good friends with the Potters, so I would often come here for summers when I was younger. Then in school Lily and I were potion partners from our Fourth year onwards, so we ended up being quite close."

There's a silence, a thick silence, and it's driving Hermione mental and she simply can't help herself anymore, her need to understand consuming her.

"Why are you all taking this so well?" Hermione blurts, tapping her shoe against the floor a touch impatiently.

"Because we already knew," Alice says kindly.

"You _did_?" Lily gasps, trying to twist to look at her friend, but Marlene moves with lightning fast reflexes and puts one of her hands on Lily's shoulder.

"I'm almost done with your hair, Lily. Please don't fidget," Marlene commands softly, and Lily giggles, reaching up and patting Marlene's hand-which quickly goes back to the task at hand.

"Sirius felt like we should know, so he came round our flat yesterday and gave us a heads up. He was being all secretive and even made us make oaths on our magic not to utter a peep to anyone," Dorcas pipes in. _Damn Black,_ Hermione thinks, _at least he made them swear...I guess they can be trusted, but I'd rather they don't know too much too fast._

"He didn't answer any of our important questions though," Emmeline sighs. "What year you're from, what house you were in, what's it like whenever you're from."

"Well now you know what house I was in," Hermione smiles civilly, "what about you all? I can't assume you were all Gryffindors, can I?"

"I was in Ravenclaw," Emmeline says, scratching her shoulder absently as she locks eyes with Hermione.

"Gryffindor," Dorcas says.

"Gryffindor," Alice smiles, but it quickly fades as she says in a small voice, "Mary was a Hufflepuff...she was...she-" Alice isn't able to finish whatever she was going to say, her voice thick and catching in her throat.

Marlene's entire body is tense, and there's a haunted look in her eyes, Dorcas looks furious and distraught all at the same time, Emmeline's eyes are shining with unshed tears and she sniffs once, harshly. Lily bows her head a fraction, her hands clenching in her lap and Hermione can see her bottom lip trembling.

"I can tell you all loved her very much," Hermione says as kindly as she can, feeling even more out of place than ever now. She understands their grief, in ways that she almost wishes she didn't, but she doesn't share it.

She didn't know the petite girl that they all loved. She didn't know that she loved caramel and pudding, and that she had a journal full of pressed flowers, or that she had once hexed an older Slytherin boy for making crude comments about her best friend Marlene as they walked past them-the boy had been in the Infirmary for three days and the Hufflepuff had been given three weeks detention, but she served her time proudly saying she would do it all over again if she was given the chance.

"Mary wouldn't want us to be sad, she would want us to be happy," Lily sniffs, wiping her eyes-which thankfully her face didn't have on any makeup yet-sitting up straighter, once more raising her chin. "I'm getting married. She would be overjoyed."

"Knowing her she would be running around the room yelling at the top of her lungs about how excited she was for you, Lils," Marlene says, her voice a gentle caress of sound that shakes as it falls from her lips, her eyes are lowered as she puts the last pin in Lily's hair, checking to make sure that it's secure before she steps back.

"She would be stealing flowers from her bouquet later to put into her book," Emmeline comments, shaking her head with a ghost of a smile gracing her features.

"Probably already thinking about the cake and dancing at the reception," Alice smirks.

The ball of awkwardness that Hermione had previously felt tie itself together in her stomach loosens, and she lets out a soft exhale. Even if she doesn't feel like she's intruding anymore, she knows that she has places to be. She still needs to check if all the decorations are properly placed, and that Mipsy and Kreacher aren't having another row.

Thinking about Kreacher causes her mind to drift to his Master. Regulus had stayed in his room for the most part since being here, but Hermione had gone up to see him yesterday afternoon to ask if he would be coming to the ceremony and he had replied dryly with, "it would only be proper of me to. It would be rather rude if I didn't...I'll see you tomorrow Miss Granger," Regulus had smiled, half-grimaced before shutting the door and retreating back into his inner sanctum.

"Right, I best be off. It was lovely meeting all of you, but I have things to attend to," Hermione says hurriedly, and she swivels on her heel and hastily makes a break for the exit. The other girls chorus their farewells and then Hermione's hand is on the cool brass of the doorknob, opening the door and practically flying through it. She shuts it a touch harder than she intends and she flinches harshly after.

She does feel extremely relieved. _I need to find one of the boys_ , Hermione thinks desperately. She felt vulnerable and like an outsider in the room with Lily and the other girls, and it's ridiculous and they were all lovely, but a piece of her is just thankful that there's a door between them now.

Shaking her head Hermione sets off down the corridor, she has much to do and only a few hours left in which to do it.

* * *

 **Mary McDonald (MacDonald properly but I've always written it the other way)**

 **(1959/1960-Thursday, February 8th, 1979)**

 **My description of her:** \- and that leaves the jovial looking blonde sitting on the floor with her legs spread wide-the fabric of her dress covering her all the way to the middle of her shins, it comes to the floor and covers her feet when she's standing, but it's bunched up a little.

"Mary McDonald," the pale blonde girl chirps, and Hermione squats down to hand her her bouquet. Mary immediately begins to examine all the flowers in the bouquet with intense interest.

Mary is the shortest of all the girls, just scraping five foot one, and her long hair is free-some of her locks falling forward and pooling in her lap. The locks that are trailing down her back are spread out behind her on the ground, the ends curling-she has loose bouncy curls. Mary has a round face, bright pink lips, freckles dancing across her cheeks, almond shaped eyes and thin eyebrows that make her look like she's always surprised. She is humming a pleasant tune absently and Hermione can't help the faint smile on her face.

 **P.S. Has anyone else seen the ASOUE (A Series of Unfortunate Events) teaser trailer?! I went absolutely mad when I saw it, the excitement is unreal.**

 **Indieblue xxx**


	21. Mr and Mrs Potter

**MY DEARS!**

 **This chapter is the longest I've written for this story yet, but I suspect you'll all be okay with that :P I really do hope you all enjoy this chapter!**

 **OMG. YOUR reviews! You are all absolutely lovely and delightful! I know everyone hasn't read the last chapter, but it just means that when they get to this chapter they'll have plenty more to freak out on me about ;) ALSO. Dalliance has more than 300 reviews now?! OMG. Insane. I still can't believe it. It's now my second most reviewed story and it's simply craaazy. I will try and respond to them this weekend, school work has been mental and I've been writing with every scrap of spare time that I find.**

 **I'm so happy everyone seems to like the girls, they are all dear to my heart and I'm overjoyed at your reaction to them!**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx and this chapter is dedicated to my darling, wonderful friend Henny *kisses***

* * *

Remus smells her before he sees her, caramel and vanilla filling the air. Remus extends his hand just in the nick of time as she careens around the corner-catching her in his arms, hands gently holding onto her upper arms.

He hears Hermione's breath catch in her throat, and her hands automatically move to his chest as she steadies herself.

When he pulls back enough to see her properly he's floored, stunned, gobsmacked. She looks absolutely gorgeous.

Hermione is wearing a tea-length lavender dress, with an illusion neckline, the clear material across her collarbones and shoulders is littered with tiny dark purple sparkles, the dress comes in at her waist, and flares out and almost looks like it's floating, and on her feet are four inch cream heels. In her ears are a pair of amethyst studs that Dorea lent her.

"Well good morning to you too, love," Remus smirks, "you look stunning."

Hermione blushes, averting her eyes from his for a second, before responding, "thank you. You look quite handsome yourself."

Remus is wearing clean cut formal black robes with a white button down underneath it. He's only done up the middle buttons on the robes, so that he doesn't feel too restrained. He may be feeling much better today than he was yesterday, but _Moony_ was still a bit on edge. His black trousers are well fitted and he's wearing a pair of black leather shoes that he loaned from Charlus-he'd had to enlarge them slightly but otherwise it was fine. He'd even combed back his hair, which was an odd feeling and he had the incessant urge to run his hand through it.

"Are you okay today?" Hermione asks, the blush fading as a worried look passes over her features.

"I'm fine."

"You were sleeping for two days straight after the full moon and you only woke up yesterday around midday...I'm just worried that you're pushing yourself," Hermione frowns, her fingers gently pressing against him a touch harder for a moment.

Remus reaches up to stroke her cheek fondly, and he can't help but smile when she inadvertently leans into his touch, "I'm okay Hermione. I've been better, but I'll live. Today is about James and Lily and I'm not going to spoil it for them."

Hermione looks at him dubiously, squinting at him and she taps his chest twice. "If you feel ill at all then don't push yourself." Hermione sighs, and she gnaws on her bottom lip absentmindedly, "I still have to go and check that all the decorations are in place, that are the flower arrangements are complete...and have you seen Mipsy or Kreacher?"

"Kitchen about an hour ago. Why?" Remus quirks an eyebrow.

"Not killing each other I hope. There are far too many sharp objects in there with how heated they get in an argument," Hermione sighs in exasperation, letting her cheek completely fall into the palm of his hand.

"They were keeping it civil I think," Remus chuckles lightly, "focusing on cooking."

"I offered to get some outside help cooking all the food, but Mipsy insisted she could manage," Hermione commented absently, but he suspects it is more of a mental note spoken aloud rather than anything else.

"Do you need any help?" Remus asks, thumb moving back and forth across her cheek. Hermione smiles sweetly at him and warmth builds in his chest at the sight.

"No, thank you. Dorea and I have a handle on it-" Hermione says, but then she purses her lips, "-actually, can you make sure James is still in one piece and that Sirius isn't doing anything too reckless? Please."

"That's my job. Didn't you know?" Remus smiles wryly. "How did Charlus's transfiguration of Harry and Ron's features go by the way?"

Hermione's eyes widen, as if she had completely forgotten all about it. "I'm not sure. I haven't seen either of them for the morning. Gosh. I should go and check," Hermione rambles, and then she does something wholly unexpected by either party. She turns her head and kisses the palm of Remus's hand.

Remus isn't entirely sure she notices what she did, because then she's stepping out of his embrace and hurrying off in the direction she had been going before she almost crashed into him. Calling over her shoulder, "I'll see you at the ceremony!"

Remus glances over his shoulder and sees her honey brown curls bouncing as she practically jogs in her heels, the sunlight from the windows on the left hand side of the corridor is shining on her and she seems to glow. Remus shakes his head softly. Hermione Granger certainly is something else.

 _Right. Off to find the best man and his other groomsmen,_ Remus thinks to himself, heading East to the other side of the house.

* * *

"Thank _Godric_ you're here, Moony. Can you talk some sense into this wanker?" Sirius says exasperatedly, throwing his hands into the air-he's only wearing a tight pair of black trousers and black dragonhide shoes, his chest is bare, and his shoulder length hair is still slightly damp.

"By _'this wanker_ ' I assume you mean, Prongs?" Remus asks curiously, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

Frank, Sirius and James are all gathered in James's bedroom, and nothing looks amiss, aside from the fact that Remus doesn't see James.

Frank is sitting backwards on James's wooden desk chair, arms laying across the top and his chin is resting on top of his forearms. It's the first time Remus has seen him since Hermione's memories and a thick wad of emotion stuffs his throat like a pile of cotton balls, and he has to fight to swallow. Somehow he manages to shoot a bright smile at his friend in greeting.

Frank is dressed similar to Sirius, with the exception that he has a long sleeved white button down on already. Frank's shoes are so shiny you can see your reflection in them.

Frank is about the same height as James, with a stockier build, rounded bright blue eyes, curly blond hair, dimples, a long, slightly crooked nose since he'd broken it in a brawl with a Ravenclaw boy that had tried to make moves on Alice in their Seventh year, and he had insisted that it heal naturally without any magical assistance. There are smile lines around his mouth and a small scar on his forehead above his left eyebrow, where he had been nicked by a cursed blade on one of their first Order missions.

"Mate. He's been in the bathroom for the last twenty minutes, won't come out," Frank drawls in his deep voice, jerking his chin in the direction of the bathroom-which is hidden from this angle because of the cupboards that line the right hand side of the room until they reach the bathroom door.

"Really?" Remus raises an eyebrow.

"Really," Sirius sighs dramatically, pacing back and forth. "I tried to get him to come out, but nothing. He's freaking out and I'm not sure why. We were laughing one second, next he looks like he's about to be ill and he rushes into the bathroom."

Remus exhales deeply.

Remus takes long strides across the room, and he stops just short of the door, placing a hand on the doorknob. He listens carefully and he can hear James muttering in circles to himself.

" _Alohomora_ ," Remus whispers-wandlessly unlocking the door-he hears the click signalling that the latch in the lock has released and he twists the doorknob, easily stepping into the room, partially shutting the door behind him as he looks about.

The bathroom window is shut, so the only light in the room is coming from the rays of light that are pushing into the darkness from the bedroom.

The counter is in slight disarray, James's toothbrush half dangling into the sink, his toothpaste is uncovered, it seems like every cologne that James owns is gathered on the left hand side, his brush has haphazardly been left on the right hand side next to his toothpaste.

James himself is wedged between the toilet-which is next to the bathroom counter-and the lip of the shower. Remus is surprised that his friend isn't in the shower itself.

James looks up sharply when he hears Remus enter, his hands are threaded through his messy hair, his glasses are halfway down the bridge of his nose, his outer robes are thrust on the ground at his feet.

"M-Moony," James stutters out, his voice shaky.

Remus slowly approaches his friend, sensing that James's flight instincts from _Prongs_ is kicking in. When he reaches James, he lowers himself onto one knee, the other touching his chest as he cautiously places his hands on James's. James stiffens and Remus waits a moment before gently removing James's hands from his hair; cradling them when he brings them down to rest on James's raised knees.

"What's going on, Prongs?" Remus asks softly, and James looks up at him, eyes wide, his hazel irises almost entirely consumed by his dark pupils due to the lack of light in the room.

"What if it's not real, what if I wake up after I kiss her and this has all been some wonderful yet terribly cruel dream? I wake up in the Gryffindor Tower, in my old bed back in Fifth year when she detested me for what I did to Snape."

"That's ri-"

"Ridiculous?" James asks harshly, "my mind is going a million miles an hour and some twisted part of me has been screaming that Lily can't possibly love me because I'm worthless and arrogant and pathetic."

James's hands are shaking in Remus's and Remus squeezes them, with just enough pressure for James to look him in the eye.

"Lily Evans, soon to be Lily Potter loves you something terrible. You know it better than I do," Remus says firmly, letting go of one of James's hands and placing his hand on James's nape, leaning his head forward until their foreheads are pressing together-James's skin is cool compared to how hot his always runs.

"I don't deserve-"

"I'm going to cut you off right there," Remus says softly, but the edge to his tone is evident and James simply nods once-a gentle, tiny motion. "First of all you can tell that twisted part of you to _fuck_ off because it couldn't be more wrong. You are _good_ , James Potter. _Good_. You aren't that arrogant and immature fifteen year old boy anymore. You've done so many good things, you're loyal, brave, possibly certifiably insane but that doesn't change the fact that you are one of my best mates for a reason."

There's a silent moment where both of their minds drift off to what used to be the fourth member of their unbreakable group of _brothers_. They are more than just friends, they are _pack, brothers, family_. It would take a long time to recover fully from the blow that Peter had bashed them on the back of the heads with, but they could do it together. Both of the boy's eyes meet and they understand exactly what the other is thinking.

"Thank you, Moony...sometimes I think you're too good for us," James smiles, and his confidence is returning, it's evident from just how bright his smile is-it practically lights up the dimly lit space.

"Prongs, I'm _definitely_ too good for you-" Remus teases, his voice taking a slightly more serious tone a few seconds later, "-now let's get out of here so you can marry the love of your life. Deal?"

"Deal." James smirks.

* * *

The wedding itself is being held in a small clearing in the Orchards not too far from the house, the surrounding trees have garlands of cornflowers, bluebells (which were incredibly difficult to source so early in the year but Dorea had a friend that had been able to provide enough for the wedding), and primroses wrapping around them. A small arch is at the front of the clearing, with white and navy blue fabric loosely hanging and pulled to the sides-tied to the columns-strings of small blue and white wildflowers are hanging down from the top of the arch.

Standing in front of the arch, joking about and talking are the Marauders, Frank and a few of their friends.

The majority of the guests have arrived already and are conversing happily amongst themselves, standing in front of the fold out white chairs that Hermione had rented out from a muggle company for the day.

The sun is brightly shining through the tree leaves and there's a airy and magical feel to the air, as if nature itself knows that something exciting and life changing is about to occur. Remus looks up and sees that hiding in the tree branches-high enough that most people wouldn't be able to see them-are tree sprites, their thin and leafy bodies almost indiscernible to leaves to all of the guests aside from him. Their big eyes are earnestly taking everything in, and Remus can vaguely, just barely hear them making excited clicking noises.

Remus's attention is drawn away when he catches a whiff of Hermione through all of the musky colognes and flowery and fruity perfumes that had been assaulting his nose since he had come out here-the fresh air thankfully diluting them. He looks up and sees her, Dorea and what he assumes must be Harry and Ron in disguise coming down the aisle.

Hermione, (possible) Harry and Ron take seats in the front row quickly and quietly. Remus shoots Hermione a tiny smile before Dorea begins to speak and his full attention shifts to her.

"Thank you all for coming, Lily shall be here in a few moments, and then we'll get started," Dorea says giddily, almost sounding like a young schoolgirl, she then claps her hands together and moves to take one of the empty seats beside Hermione. The remaining one reserved in their row at the end-on the left hand side-is for Charlus.

Everyone shifts to their places for when the ceremony begins, including the Ministry official who will be conducting the ceremony. Frank clears his throat beside Remus, and he can't help but think about how Frank said that he is going to propose to Alice tonight after they get home from the reception. _I wish him the best of luck_ , Remus thinks absently.

Then as Remus looks out at the entrance to the clearing to wait for Lily he spots something peculiar. For a moment he thinks he's seeing things, because at the very back, on the left hand side is Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy nee Black. _What on earth are they doing here?_ Narcissa's gaze is locked on a trio on Remus's right hand side, and she is clutching her husband's hand tightly. Remus's eyes widen a fraction when he sees that she's staring at Andromeda, Ted Tonks and their daughter-whose hair hasn't stopped changing colour since he laid eyes on her, she's a rambunctious child and her head is currently tipped to the sky. Remus shakes his head at the sight, she must be a handful.

Remus tears his eyes off the odd sight of the estranged sisters gathered in such close proximity, at _Potter Manor_ of all places and decides instead to look at James. Looking at his best mate now, no one would be able to tell that twenty minutes ago he was locked away in a dark bathroom having a panic attack.

He's so busy studying his friends he doesn't notice that the bridesmaids have already begun to walk up the aisle, and when he finally sees them, they are all settling in across from him.

He re-focuses on James, and watching him is the best decision he's made all day, because he sees the exact moment that his best mate sees his future wife-from the back Remus can hear the sound of a camera shutter from the professional photographer Dorea hired who is capturing the very moment Remus is seeing unfold.

James's mouth parts, and immediately he begins to tear up, but he's grinning like a madman, he sniffs loudly as he watches in wonder as Lily enters the clearing.

Remus turns to see his redheaded friend, his stubborn and fiercely loyal friend slowly walking towards them. He has to blink rapidly and he can't help the broad grin on his face as he takes her in.

Lily is on Charlus's arm as he walks her down the aisle in place of her late Father.

Lily is wearing an empire styled dress that's as white as freshly fallen snow, the delicate sleeves are on the very edge of her shoulders, a lacy, sheer trim is wrapping around her body just under her bust from there the silky fabric falls loosely. She's holding a beautifully arranged bouquet of cornflowers, primroses, harebells (which he knows are also not in season) and some sprigs of baby's breath.

She's wearing dangly sapphire and diamond earrings that glint and catch the light, a sapphire necklace-the stone is small and modest-around her neck that ends just before the swell of her breasts with a silver chain. Remus knows that she's borrowing Dorea's white heels and that the small silver tiara nestled on the crown of her head with delicate curves and intricate details, adorned with small sapphires and diamonds belonged to Dorea's great grandmother.

James lets out a soft, breathy laugh when Lily sways from side to side, dancing the last few steps before she reaches James, halting right beside him, and Remus sees that tiny sprigs of baby's breath are in Lily's elaborate and elegant bun, standing up sharply against her dark red locks.

"Damn Lilypad, you clean up nice," Sirius whistles, and Lily turns around just to meet his eyes-he's standing slightly behind James off to the side, on Remus's right-and calmly she says, "Sirius Black, behave, you can get on like an idiot at the reception."

Sirius chuckles lowly and winks at her before she turns back to the Ministry official.

Remus recalls that Regulus is somewhere in the crowd; he passed by him fully decked out in formal emerald green robes earlier. Why the younger Black came to mind he's uncertain, perhaps it's because Sirius has yet to properly sit down and talk to him.

"My fellow witches and wizards, we are gathered here today to celebrate and witness the union of James Galieus Potter and Lily Jane Evans," The Ministry official starts in a chirpy voice, his spectacles are on the tip of his nose as he glances down at his little black leather bound book. He's a short, stout man with a wide gut, small feet, short, dark curls and warm, rosy cheeks.

"Before we begin, I must ask if there is anyone against this marriage for any reason?" The question is met with silence and then with a jolly hum the man continues, "good, everything seems in order."

Remus clasps his hands together in front of him and thinks that it's incredibly sweet that Lily and James can't help but sneak glances at each other and secretive smiles.

"The bride will say her vows first," the Ministry official says cheerily.

Lily swallows and she hands her bouquet off to Marlene who steps forward immediately, she smiles gratefully at her friend before turning to James, taking his hands in hers.

"I, Lily Jane Evans, soon to be Potter, vow to love you for the rest of my days. I swear to be there for you when you need a friend and someone to listen, or just a companion. I will never abandon you, I will make sure you don't make an absolute arse of yourself-" Lily pauses when a short round of laughter erupts, her red painted lips spreading into a radiant smile, "-I will fight for and alongside you, I vow to trust you and to be faithful.

If someone told me when I was thirteen that I would be marrying the boy who followed me around with lilies and used to flirt with me relentlessly, I would have told them they were mental. Now I can't picture marrying anyone else. I love you James Potter and even though you drive me absolutely nuts, there's no one I'd rather be with for the rest of my life."

James tips his head upwards for a moment, swallowing thickly and Remus can tell that he's fighting the tears that are threatening to spring free from his eyes to race down his cheeks. James lightly stomps his foots and then looks back down at Lily with adoration in his eyes.

Remus reaches up to stroke his chin, but ends up absently fiddling with his lip ring for a second before his hand drops back down to his side again.

"Now the groom will say his vows."

James takes a deep breath, his Adam's apple moving jerkily before he speaks, "I, James Potter, vow to love you for the rest of my days. To treasure you, care for you. Be there when you need me, to remain faithful and try my best to ensure that your beautiful smile stays as bright as it is now."

James stops, shaking his head lightly and Remus sees a single tear rolling down his cheek, which sets Lily off and there are tears brimming in her eyes that she's fighting.

"I vow to fight alongside you and for you. To never betray you, to trust you, to love you. To laugh at all your corny jokes, to make sure you never feel like you are any less of an amazing person than you are.

If someone told me that I would be marrying the girl who used to hex me when I chased after her with lilies, and who I attempted to flirt with-albeit _badly-_ I would have told them that was just a dream, a good one, but a dream. I promise to cherish you from every moment henceforth until my dying breath. There's no one I can even imagine marrying, and no one I would want to marry. I love you Lily Jane, and I always will."

There are happy tears flowing amongst those gathered behind them, and from both the bride and groom. Dorea is dabbing at her eyes with a dainty pale blue handkerchief, Charlus's eyes are shining with unshed tears, Hermione is sniffing softly whilst smiling, and the (possible) Harry and Ron are both crying freely. Unbeknownst to Remus, Mipsy had showed up right before the vows and is currently sitting in Dorea's lap, fat tears pouring from her wide eyes.

"Now if you will both repeat after me in order for the bond to be sealed, you will start with your name and continue from there."

"I, Lily Evans-"

"I, James Potter-"

" _take this witch or wizard to be my lawfully and magically bonded spouse from now until the day I depart from this earth."_

Lily and James chorus together, their voices blending together, dancing, swirling and twirling around each other. "Take this witch-"

"Take this wizard-"

"To be my lawfully and magically bonded spouse from now until the day I depart from this earth."

The air is crackling with magical essence, and the Ministry official raises his wand, mumbling some complex strings of words that Remus doesn't care to pay too much attention to, and Lily and James's hands begin to glow a bright gold, and almost blinding tongues of light weave themselves around Lily and James's intertwined hands.

It only intensify as the man chants and then as it builds and builds and builds, suddenly it simply bursts, a small wave of air hastily _whooshing_ away from James and Lily. Their hands glow for a moment longer, and then the tongues of light sink into their skin and fade, and there's a faint humming noise in the air.

"I now proclaim you husband and wife! Your magical cores are tied together and your lives forever bound. You may now kiss the bride!"

Remus feels another intangible string that is linking Lily and James, he can sense it through the pack bond that they share and it brings him great joy.

There are exuberant cheers when James gently tugs Lily to him, interlocking his fingers around her lower back and pressing his lips to hers.

The moment is perfect and bright and brimming with joy, the clearing bursting with magical energy as the glowing ceases.

Then it is harshly interrupted by a sharp crack, and standing at the end of the aisle, feet away from Lucius and Narcissa is Orion Black.

A look of pure fury is on his face and he begins to stalk forward, wand extended, and Remus catches a glimpse of the small figure at his heels-it's Kreacher. " _Dorea!_ "

 _Fucking hell. Couldn't we have one **good** day where no shite happens? Is that too much to ask?_ Remus thinks sourly, reaching into his robes for his wand. _Honestly. The nerve of some people._

Before anyone else can react, Dorea is already at the end of the aisle, mere feet away from Remus. Calmly, holding herself in a dignified and relaxed manner she says, " _stupefy_."

The burst of red light that flashes from her wand slams into the approaching, wrath filled Orion and his legs keep moving even as his eyes roll back in his head and as his body falls forward.

There is a tense silence then, no one dares to move. Then Dorea tucks her wand behind her ear, claps her hands together still facing the guests and says jovially, "the reception is going to be held in the backyard of the Manor under a navy blue tent. There's plenty of refreshments and food to go around."

* * *

 **Well wasn't that fun ;)**

 **Indieblue xxx**


	22. Orion Black

**MY DEARS!**

 **ALL OF YOUR REVIEWS. I teared up for sure reading all of them. I'm just so glad you guys liked the Wedding chapter. So glad, I put a lot into it, so I was (am still) overjoyed by your response.**

 **DrWho. WhereAreYou, you are a blessing. I unfortunately cannot PM you to squeal and thank you for your kind reviews and lovely words. So thank you!**

 **This chapter is short and sweet, and I'm already working on the next chapter. So hopefully I'll have that out for you guys sometime over the next few days. It'll be the reception and all the fun our lovable idiots are going to get up to ;)**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

"Ah, Mipsy. You are such a dear for bringing tea...now go and rest my darling, you've been working yourself to the bone," Dorea says sternly as she strolls over to the coffee table where Mipsy had just put out a silver tray with a teapot, three teacups, a small container for sugar and a little pitcher of milk.

Mipsy nods tiredly, eyes worriedly glancing over to the far side of the room, before she vanishes with a small pop.

Dorea, Regulus and Hermione are currently in the Drawing Room, and sitting unconscious on a simple, dark stained wooden chair by the window is Orion.

The quickly dwindling light is shining from behind him and Hermione has to admit that she can see where Sirius and Regulus had gotten their good looks from.

Despite the fact that Dorea is five years older than Walburga and nine years older than Orion, she looks much younger than both of them. Where Walburga had looked as if time had been unkind to her, Orion simply looks tired, ragged, worn-down.

His luscious raven hair is shoulder length like his eldest son, but it is tied back with a black ribbon. Now that he isn't filled with rage and charging towards Dorea, Hermione sees him clearer. His veins are highly visible in his hands-which are the only uncovered pieces of skin aside from his face and neck. Orion is a fairly tall man at five foot ten, but his height only seems to accentuate how bony his ankles are-his trouser legs are riding up slightly now that he's sitting down (more accurately slumping, head lolled back) and Hermione can see his ankle bones protruding through his black socks. His robes look untidy, as if he was in a rush to put them on, a few buttons are fastened in the wrong holes.

Orion's complexion is pallid at best, and there are dark purple smudges under his eyes. Something is wrong, dreadfully wrong.

"Are you sure you wish to be here?" Dorea asks Regulus gently, striding over to where Hermione and Regulus are standing in front of Orion; the soft clinking sound of her teacup as she puts it back down on its' saucer, following her. Whispering something and letting it go in midair, directing the teacup to float beside her.

Dorea proceeds to retrieve her wand from behind her ear, but remains still, earnestly awaiting Regulus's answer.

Regulus's lips are pressing into a thin, white line and he nods curtly, once. Dorea tilts her head towards him respectfully before turning her attention back to his Father. Aiming her wand directly at Orion's chest.

" _Rennervate_!" Dorea says firmly, a bright red light erupts from the tip of her wand and smacks Orion in the chest. In the blink of an eye he's gasping, eyes wide and darting about in a frenzy, until they fall on Dorea. Orion freezes, and everything is dead quiet for a tense moment. Crazy, maniacal laughter erupts from his mouth, filling every crevice of the room, harshly throwing his head back; the afternoon sun striking him at such an angle that most of his face was cast in shadow. A shiver runs down Hermione's spine, leaving gooseflesh on her arms and legs, and a strange feeling in her gut.

Dorea is merely appraising Orion with an almost clinical eye, frowning when he begins to sputter; he falls forward violently, which only leads to him hacking and coughing atrociously. When the coughing ceases, he sits up, his back heavily hitting the chair-there is crimson staining his lips and a charming smile is plastered across his face. It is a surreal and disturbing sight.

"You're dying," Dorea says after a moment, and Orion's smile fades. He reaches into his robes and pulls out a handkerchief, wiping his face and then wringing the cream piece of cloth between his hands- his head falling forward slightly and the crimson stain is what his eyes are focusing on.

"Why did you kill Walburga?" Orion asks softly, tapping his foot against the wooden floorboards absently.

"She gave me no choice...I assume Kreacher told you I was responsible and that he brought you here?" Dorea parries, pursing her lips.

Orion's eyes flick upwards, but he's not looking at Dorea, but past her, straight at Hermione. "She's pretty for a Muggleborn," Orion sighs, his body sagging as if it's being pressed down by an invisible weight.

"If that isn't a backhanded compliment, I don't know what is," Hermione says, her voice coming out much smaller than she thought it would, to rectify this, and to establish that she isn't afraid, she raises her chin.

Orions makes a tiny amused noise, and gives her a small smile, "I assume you are part of the reason why Wallie is dead." Hermione is surprised by the term of endearment, even if she's not sure why-perhaps because the last time she heard it was when Walburga died; however her raised eyebrows are the only indication of such. "She was...unstable as of late. You know the rumours, Dorea. How there is a healthy dose of madness in the Black blood."

" _Rumours_?" Dorea smirks playfully, and Orion only chuckles softly for a moment before the sputtering is back. He raises a hand-clutching his handkerchief-to his mouth and coughs into it for a few seconds. Once it settles down again he looks once more to Hermione.

"This world is unkind, girl. I hope you're prepared for the heap of shit it's about to throw at you."

"You're referring to the war," Dorea sighs, finally lowering her wand.

"He's powerful, Dorea. I won't live long enough to see the outcome of what's to come...but not even Dumbledore can stop him," Orion says tightly.

"How long?" Regulus asks, speaking for the first time since Orion had awoken.

"Until I die? Well, whatever it is, it's incurable...so a couple months most likely, son," Orion responds, shrugging.

"How didn't I know you were ill?"

"You were away doing You-Know-Who's bidding and I was away from home a lot."

"You didn't really come here for revenge, did you?" Hermione asks, taking a step forward, drawing everyone's attention.

"If I'd gotten a hit in that would have been nice," Orion responds vaguely, grey eyes glimmering in the dim light, staring at his feet.

"You're going to die so you wanted to spend time with whatever family you have left. Your sons," Dorea says, understanding dawning across her features. She takes a step back and picks her floating teacup up off of its saucer, taking a sip.

"It's a darling dream, but that's all it is-" Orion smiles wryly, "-Sirius is going to want nothing to do with me, and Regulus...I don't know what you want. Being one of _his_ followers certainly isn't it. I suppose I was blinded by Walburga's hatred and poison for too long, I didn't notice until it was too late."

Orion takes a slow intake of breath before continuing, "then Kreacher showed up earlier and you weren't dead as I had suspected...that's what You-Know-Who and the others think, that you died in that fire." Orion looks Dorea dead in the eye and says, "when I found out that you'd taken _him_ , I was filled with such potent rage. Regulus is probably the only good thing I've ever done...I can't even count Sirius because I failed him, you were the one who raised him properly."

"How sour did that taste coming out?" Dorea asks softly, putting her teacup back down and slowly sashaying towards Orion. Squatting down a few feet in front of him, wand still in hand.

"You have no idea," Orion laughs harsh and quick. "I hate you."

Dorea looks extremely hesitant, and Hermione is dumbfounded by the next words that slip from her lips. "Did you want me to get Sirius...so you can talk?"

"No. I think that ship has sailed, it's too late."

"It's never too late," Dorea presses, brow puckering.

"I'm afraid in my case it is. Regulus, tell your brother...tell him, I'm sorry," Orion says remorsefully. "Now, if you'll show me to the closest floo I'll be on my way. I don't have a lot of time left and I don't want to waste anymore of yours." Orion looks at Regulus with a sad smile, "I can see that Regulus will be taken care of once I'm gone."

"That's it? You're leaving just like that?" Regulus bites out, taking a menacing step in his Father's direction.

"Just like that. I told you, I'm tired," Orion says, the haggard expression on his face reappearing. His skin seems to sink into his face then, making it look more gaunt and making him look sickly.

"Come, Regulus. Let's direct your Father to the floo," Dorea says softly, wrapping her arm around Regulus's shoulders. He stiffens in her grasp, but then he nods and Hermione feels out of place once again for the day. Orion stands up and he stops right next to her, "things are about to get shades of nasty that most people didn't know existed...you're going to have to be strong, girl." With that he passes by her.

"Hermione, you should go enjoy yourself, my darling girl. Find Remus, dance with him. Have some fun," Dorea suggests gently, and Hermione's chest tightens at the mention of Remus-unbeknownst to her, a smile is crawling across her face.

The other three wix then turn to exit the Drawing Room, leaving Hermione there with the last tongues of light hitting her back.

 _I think I will go find Remus_ , Hermione thinks happily. Today is a day for happy things, and she'll push Orion's haunting words out of her mind for now. Such thoughts are for a different day, for now she is going to go and find a certain sandy haired wizard.

Hermione leaves the room with high spirits, heels clicking against the hardwood, curls bouncing as she moves.

* * *

 **I have no idea how I feel about this chapter, but I hope you all like it :)**


	23. One Hell Of A Party!

**MY DEARS!**

 **So, I am having a mini freakout because Dalliance is one away from 300 followers. FREAKING OUT. I was a bit at war with myself over whether I would actually have a piece of this chapter in here, or if I was going to be a tease a little longer. I was so excited that I decided to give in.**

 **I re-read yesterday's chapter and I decided that I liked it, especially after all of your amazing reviews (I AM LOOKING AT YOU SABLE).**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais, my loves xxx**

 **My dear Calebski caught up this morning and my inbox was flooded with loveliness, so this chapter is for her *hearts***

* * *

 _All of the guests had already left for the reception under Dorea's guidance-she of course stopped first to take some candid pictures with her son, then with her son and husband, some alone with the bride and finally with all four of them together._

 _Consequently-with Hermione and Regulus's assistance-she gathered up Orion's limp form and levitated him in front of her as she left the clearing; Hermione and Regulus accompanying her._

 _The disguised Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter stayed in their seats as per Charlus's instruction earlier that morning; at the time they had no idea what was planned._

 _First the bride and the bridesmaids took their pictures, laughing, hugging, sparks dancing from their fingers in happiness. The background of the sunlight filtering in between the trees and the blue flower garlands wrapped around the trees only seemed to add to the magic of the pictures._

 _Second the groom and the groomsmen had their turn. At one point Sirius Black jumped onto James back and began to pepper his cheek with kisses. Then James Potter was held up by his groomsmen, head propped up in his hand. At this point all of their outer robes had been unbuttoned, and finally they posed in a line, arms thrown across each other's shoulders._

 _The bridesmaids and the groomsmen posed together, Marlene McKinnon let out a squeak when Sirius Black picked her up princess style-the following picture was her whacking him in the face with her bouquet._

 _The photographer was a tall, thin man with fine features, dirty blonde hair, thick, round glasses and he was wearing a well-tailored plum suit with pointy black dragonhide shoes. He was an old friend of Charlus's, they had been in the same year at Hogwarts; Reginald Finch had been in Ravenclaw and was a Half-Blood whose Mother had died in childbirth, so when he got his letter it was a good shock to him and his Father._

 _"Thank you bridesmaids and groomsmen, I just need pictures of the lovely couple now," Reginald said in a slightly nasally voice, smiling warmly at everyone._

 _Sirius Black and Remus Lupin hung back, a part of the plan that was about to be revealed-they told Frank they would catch up with him. The blond man shrugged nonchalantly and ran after his girlfriend, sweeping her off her feet-literally-and carrying her laughing figure out of the clearing._

 _"Those are the two that you told me about Charlus?" Reginald asked Charlus, who had been hanging off to the side whilst the younger wix took their pictures-Reginald was looking directly at the disguised Ron and Harry._

 _"I appreciate your discretion, Reginald...you always were good with secrets," Charlus winked at the other man, who snorted and rolled his eyes._

 _"Yes, that's why you made me take an oath not to speak about them, though I understand perfectly. These are tricky times we're living in," Reginald sighed wistfully, a faraway look in his eyes, his finger tapping against the side of his camera._

 _"Us?" Harry Potter asked in surprise._

 _"You didn't think we weren't going to have pictures with you, did you mate?" Sirius smirked playfully, batting his eyelashes at Harry._

 _Charlus turned to the two wizards that were making their way from the front row and waved his wand a few times whilst chanting-undoing his handiwork._

 _Harry rubbed his nose and pushed his glasses back further onto the bridge of his nose, stepping over a tree root and joining the others. Ron looked a little hesitant, and then Lily turned towards him questioningly._

 _"I'm not-I'm…" Ron trailed off, anxiously rubbing a hand through his cropped hair-it would have been longer, but he had shaved most of it off again a couple weeks ago, so it was around two inches at best._

 _"Ronald Bilius Weasley, you more than deserve to be here with us, now get your butt over here before I have to drag you over here," Lily said firmly, handing her bouquet to Harry._

 _Ron's eyes widened and he nodded jerkily, taking awkward strides to the others, settling in beside Remus._

 _Lily and James were at the front, Harry and Sirius were on their right and Remus and Ron were on their left._

 _"That's good, nice, yes, don't focus on me too much...Er-Ronald! Yes, don't focus on me. These people are like family, focus on them. This is a happy day, yes Lily take the bouquet back!" Reginald said with gusto as the group of wix interacted, ending with a group hug and bright smiles all around._

 _"Okay, now Lily and the raven haired boy with the lightning scar," Reginald directed, and the pictures went like that for the remainder of the time. Harry and Lily, Harry and Ron, Harry and James, James, Remus and Sirius, Lily and Ron, Lily and Remus._

 _The last picture of Remus and Lily was just being taken-Remus was hugging Lily around the shoulders from behind when Reginald tsked._

 _"I'm going to need to get more rolls of film from back at the house for the rest of the wedding. Now I want just the beautiful couple, the rest of you are free to go," Reginald said cheerily, chuffed with the pictures he had taken so far._

 _Charlus quickly replaced the charms of Harry and Ron, and transfiguring the small details that he needed to._

 _Harry's hair was bright blonde, his eyes were brown, his scar was gone, there was a mole on his left cheek, and his nose was longer and hooked._

 _Ron's hair was shoulder length and mousey brown, he had kept his bright blue eyes, he had a short beard and the tip of his nose had been turned up._

 _"Well let's go have some fun," Sirius said from behind Ron and Harry, clapping them both of the shoulders and guiding them out of the clearing. Remus chuckled softly before following them. Charlus was right behind them, but he stopped beside Reginald whose lips were pursed pensively._

 _"I'm not going to ask why a boy who looks exactly like your son, and what looked to be a Weasley were just in front of my eyes. Tell me one thing, are you sure you know what you're doing?"_

 _"You know me, Reginald...I've always got a trick up my sleeve," Charlus said with a dazzling smile, patting his old friend on the back before meandering out of the clearing, hands in his pockets, whistling a pleasant tune._

 _"Right, now, big smiles," Reginald said to Lily and James, who were lost in each other, and didn't need to be told twice._

* * *

 **Flashback**

 **Friday, March 9th, 1979**

 **Malfoy Manor**

Narcissa stares at her husband as he slumbers away, she can't resist brushing some of his bangs off of his forehead-however the motion rouses him. Lucius's eyes crack open, looking up at her blearily.

Directly across from their King sized bed are the French doors-that are currently open-which lead out onto their balcony, and the sheer white curtains are fluttering in the gentle breeze that's blowing into the Master bedroom.

Dark chocolate furniture with white walls, and white accents. The sheets that are currently on their bed are white. The room is vast and spacious, and if Narcissa didn't have to, she wouldn't leave it on most days.

"Morning," Lucius mumbles, throwing an arm across her thighs and snuggling into her side. She's sitting upright, legs out straight in front of her, her long fair locks are loose and brush the insides of her elbows as she shifts closer to her husband.

"We have to talk about the invitation we got yesterday," Narcissa reminds him in a soft whisper, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple.

"Fuck 'em. Why did they invite us anyway? It's not like we get on with the Potters...Father and Dorea Black haven't talked in years, even though he says they were close in school," Lucius props himself up on his left forearm, his right arm pulling her into him.

"She's Dorea _Potter_ now, has been for a while," Narcissa says.

"We don't have to go because Dorea _Potter_ crooks her little finger and asks us to," Lucius says bitterly, his shoulder length hair mussed from sleep and a few bangs are falling in his eyes-he shakes his head to shift them.

"Cousin Dorea invited us _personally_ , she is a highly respected member of our society. She is still part of the Black family even if she is a Potter now, as much as I am still a Black even if I married into the Malfoy family."

"Narcissa-"

"Don't Narcissa me," Narcissa snarls, "Dorea is not a witch to trifle with. I'm sure your Father told you that much. We have to go."

Lucius shoots her an exasperated look, but after sighing heavily he begrudgingly says, "fine. We'll go. Even if James Potter is marrying a Mudblood."

Narcissa rolls her eyes, "I suggest you scrap that word from your vocabulary at the wedding."

"Yes, dear...now can we go back to sleep?"

"Yes, Lucius," Narcissa laughs lightly.

* * *

 **Present**

 **Saturday, March 24th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

 **Lily and James's Wedding Reception**

There is a vast tent running the length of the house in the backyard of the Manor. On the far left there are six round tables-able to seat five people comfortably-with starch white tablecloths and in slender vases in the middle of the table, are cornflowers and primroses in delicate floral arrangements. Polished silverware is nestled on navy blue napkins.

The far right has a table running along the short side with various refreshments and finger foods, Sirius Black himself nicks a small sandwich before heading in a beeline towards his target-which is as far away from everyone else in the middle of the tent as they can be; the middle is where most of the socialisation is currently underway.

Currently floating in the air are small lights-glass balls which are set to shift through a myriad of colours from dark blue to soft yellow every few minutes; however they are charmed only to work as soon as the sun set, so for now they are just towards the top of the tent just below the framework.

The tent top itself is navy blue, and braids of bluebells twist up the tent legs, and dark blue fabric is moving from the middle of each side of the tent at the top and is loosely pulled back to the tent legs-tied around the bottoms and tops, which gives it a bit more of a private feeling whilst still allowing airflow.

Emmeline is singing softly not too far away from the pair that Sirius is heading for, her small band of wizards is behind her playing cheery tunes on their instruments.

Sirius finally reaches his destination, and the pair are certainly surprised by his sudden appearance, despite this they cover it up well.

Lucius Malfoy's posture as always is as straight as a rod. Sirius used to joke that's cause he had one shoved up his arse. His shoulder length pale blond hair is pulled back into a short braid with a emerald ribbon at the end. His stormy grey eyes are twinkling with curiosity, and his strong jaw is clenched, his hand is on the small of his wife's back, and his black robes appear to be pressed and are immaculate as always. Sharp nose, prominent cheekbones, light pink lips, muscular build but not bulky. He's the image of proper grooming and the picture of a well bred Pure-blood wizard.

Narcissa is a delicate looking woman, but Sirius remembers when they played together when he was younger, she could be a fierce as a tiger when she is ready. Slender build and a small waist. She's wearing a lilac, sheath dress with a high neckline and no sleeves-it brushed loosely across her curves before pooling around her feet. She has a silver pin in her hair that is adorned with diamonds, and she must be wearing flats. Bright blue eyes, small, rosy lips, dark eyelashes with pale tips, and there's a distinct smell of lemon that seems to cling to her.

"Lucius, Narcissa," Sirius clasps his hands behind his back and inclines his head towards the pair respectfully.

Narcissa's features light up, happily stepping forward, and she grasps his upper arm. "Sirius!" Sirius had a feeling this would happen, he always one of her favourites. After he was burned off the family tree, the rest of the family was forbidden from speaking to him, but he had gotten a fine silk scarf that following Christmas from an unknown sender and he is looking at its sender.

"I'm here to relay a message, if that's alright," Sirius moves to put a hand on her exposed shoulder and he squeezes gently. He ignores the glower Lucius shoots at him, and when Narcissa nods with a puckered brow, he continues, "Mum-Dorea that is, and Hermione wish to speak to you, but due to...unforeseen circumstances, they got pulled away."

"Your Father crashing the ceremony you mean," Lucius says dryly, trying not to flinch when Narcissa elbows him-subtlety and hard-in the gut.

Sirius mouth twists to the side in a half-smile, "yes. Mum does however wish to invite you round for tea later this week, she's says she'll owl you the details."

"That's kind of her, do you have any idea what it's about?" Narcissa asks curiously, her lips pulling into a tiny pout.

"I have an inkling, but I think it best that I stay out of it," Sirius says. "Did you enjoy the ceremony?"

"It was lovely," Narcissa smiles softly. Sirius then notices that her loose waves are trailing down her back.

There is a loud wolf whistle and the other occupants of the tent begin to clap and cheer-Lily and James have arrived, and off in the distance Sirius sees Reginald striding hastily for the house, probably going in search of more film.

"Best man duties call," Sirius says merrily to Narcissa and Lucius, "lovely to see you, Cissa. If you'll excuse me."

Sirius nods at Lucius and lets go of Narcissa, spinning on his heel and rushing towards his best mate and his lovely doe. " _Mister and Missus James Potter everyone!_ " Sirius bellows for the whole tent to hear, cupping his hands around his mouth. He doesn't see Narcissa and Lucius sneak away, feeling very out of place and like they had stayed the polite amount of time, they headed off for the floo that they had arrived in-it had been opened for the wedding guests, and it is the only way in and out since the wards had only been strengthened in the time that Hermione and the others had been here.

Sirius also doesn't see a tall woman with dark curls watching Narcissa leave with a sad and nostalgic smile on her face.

* * *

When Hermione arrives in the tent the party is in full swing, the lights floating around are changing colours out of sync but it only adds to the chaotic and wonderful ambiance.

The stars are twinkling in the sky and Hermione stripped off her heels at the entrance to the tent, her feet killing her. She can only smile wryly when she sees a pile of heels abandoned off to the side right next to her. She neatly deposits hers, and before she can really take a good look around her, someone grabs her by the wrist and drags her onto the dance floor.

She smells fresh parchment and chocolate and she knows _exactly_ who it is. She looks up at her partner and doesn't even attempt to fight the bright, broad grin that spreads across her face as easy as melted butter.

"Mister Lupin," Hermione says as he twirls her in a quick circle, his hand instantly on the small of her back and pressing her against him a split second later as they dance.

He's less put together than he was earlier, his outer robes and waistcoat are nowhere in sight and the first few buttons on his button down shirt are undone, not to mention his sleeves are rolled up past his elbows-although his shirt is still tucked into his trousers, for now. His hair is mussed, and his hairline is slightly damp with sweat, and she can practically taste the Firewhisky on his breath.

"Miss Granger," Remus grins, spinning them around and then skipping to the side. Other couples dancing in time with and around them, normally she would feel anxious about stepping on his toes, but there's a confidence blooming in her chest as she lets him lead her around the tent.

Some of the older wix are off to the left of the tent, sitting down and resting their weary bones, whereas a few of them are right in the thick of it-a darling old lady is currently taking Frank for a spin.

Hermione sees that Arthur and Molly were able to make it after all and they are having a jolly time, she catches sight of Ron in disguise, and he's watching his parents with wonder and awe. Harry is beside him, but his focus is on the frosty haired witch that's belting out magical noises in time to the lively symphony behind her.

She turns back to Remus and sees that his gaze is on her, eyes ablaze with joy, and he's biting down on his lip. She doesn't know if it's the atmosphere, she doesn't know if it's because of all of the love that poured out during the ceremony. She grips the front of his shirt, and gathers every ounce of her courage and she kisses him.

Everything else fades away and it's just him and her. He tastes like Firewhisky and she's drowning on his taste, drunk on it, it feels like she's floating. They are the only ones stationary on the dance floor, but she could care less.

His fingers are clutching at the fabric of her dress and it sends tingles dancing up her spine, and her toes curl. One of her hands moves to bury itself in his soft hair, tugging gently. Why she hadn't buried her hands in it before she has no idea, it seems like such folly to have waited this long.

She can feel him smile, and she nips at his bottom lip, her tongue playing with his lip ring. Which only makes him growl lowly and she pants softly when they pull apart for air, the dark blue lights above her catch her eye, and then her eyes flick back down to his amber and gold ones.

"Fuck, you taste like honey, sweetness," Remus murmurs before dipping his head back down and claiming her lips again, his taste washing over her tongue as their tongues dance and slide against each other, as smoothly as velvet.

" _Oi! Finally!_ " Hermione hears Sirius's voice say, but she ignores it, lost in the feeling of Remus, his firm torso and abdomen pressing against her, and she slows it down, pecking his lips one last time before breaking the kiss entirely.

Hermione's lip part as she moves to say something, but then they are surrounded and she can only chuckle as James, Frank and Sirius pull him away to dance in a line with them. Sirius's shirt was abandoned long ago, and James and Frank's are entirely unbuttoned,

Hermione still feels dazed, watching Remus with enchantment, as if she's been ensnared by him, bewitched; a part of her is whispering that she has been ensnared, she was from the moment she met him, she just didn't know it.

Arms wrap around Hermione's abdomen from behind and she jumps from the sudden contact until she hears the soft, happy voice.

"Come on, how about we dance too," Lily says, her chin resting on Hermione's shoulder.

"I'd love to, Missus Potter," Hermione laughs gaily, turning around in Lily's arms and sees Dorcas, Marlene and Alice beside her.

Marlene's frosty exterior has cracked and she is allowing herself a soft smile, and she cocks her head at Hermione in a friendly challenge-like manner.

Lily whisks Hermione off, and they are holding hands and spinning in a wild circle. Hermione's heart feels to burst from happiness, emotion overwhelming her. A few happy tears spring from her eyes and then Lily pulls her in for a hug. They're swaying and Lily presses a kiss to Hermione's curls.

She's not sure it can get any better than this.

* * *

Harry can't stop watching her. She's elegant, her voice is magical and enthralling, not to mention her smile makes his heart pound fiercely.

Which is why when she takes a break from singing to grab some refreshments-Ron and himself have been on the sidelines by the refreshment table whilst the others go wild-he feels like his tongue has tied itself into a million knots and that there is a wad of something shoved down his throat, preventing him from speaking.

Most people's attention is enraptured by Remus and Hermione off to the right hand side of the dance floor, finally snogging.

"Hello," The girl says, tucking her frosty blue hair behind her ears, taking a long sip of the water from her paper cup.

"H-Hey," Harry stutters, grateful that he got that much out.

"What's your name?"

"H-H-Harry," Harry says unthinkingly.

"Rupert," Ron says beside him, nudging Harry in the side, but he doesn't even feel it.

"Emmeline," the girls says and Harry puts the name he's heard in passing to its delightful face.

"Nice to meet you-"

"You too, bride or groom?"

"Pardon?" Harry frowns.

"You here for the bride or groom?" Emmeline clarifies, a small smile on his face.

"Both," Harry responds, blinking quickly.

The current song begins to die and turn to something more mellow, and Emmeline's eyes widen, "ah, that's my cue. I best be getting back. Maybe I'll see you around some time."

"I hope so," Harry says dreamily, a little misty eyed. Emmeline giggles and saunters back to her band.

"Mate?" Ron says by his side, waving a hand in front of Harry's face, "mate."

"She's amazing." Harry Potter was lovestruck.

In the background Sirius is cheering as he climbs on Remus's shoulders, and he begins to chug a bottle of Firewhisky all on his lonesome.

It is definitely a day and night that no one is going to forget anytime soon; the morning after would prove to be interesting in its own right.

* * *

 **Sorry for any grammatical errors, I'll probably go back tomorrow and sift through it with a fine comb when it's not as 'fresh' in my mind.**

 **Love you all,**

 **Indieblue xxx**


	24. Teatime With the Malfoys

**My darlings!**

 **Everyone's love on the last chapter made me the happiest of happy girls. I am being bogged down by work, but I managed to write this chapter this morning. I do hope you all like it! Your reviews are always lovely, really they are! I love you all.**

 **I thought I should let everyone know that the next chapter will be loads of Jily feels, and a few flashbacks to the days in between the wedding and now.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Thursday, 29th March, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

The weather is beginning to warm up, even if it is only marginally. If not for all the warming charms on the tent at the wedding almost a week ago now, they surely would have all frozen under how harshly the temperature had dropped that night.

Dorea Potter is climbing the stairs at the front of the house, and when she reaches the landing she taps her heels against the floorboards to get her circulation pumping. Even though it had been getting warmer, today is particularly cold, the icy wind and chilly temperatures had come out of nowhere.

She quickly enters the house, shutting the cold out as she hurriedly closes the door.

Dorea unfastens the ribbon at the front of her outer robes, easily slipping them off. She moves to hang it on the coat rack, when she notices that there are two foreign ones there already.

Then, as if he could read her thoughts, Kreacher appears beside her with a pop. "Mistress Dorea, the Malfoys arrived whilst you were out, and they are waiting in the Drawing Room with...Miss _Granger_ ," Kreacher's lip curls with disdain when using Hermione's name; seeing as he couldn't call her anything more than a Mudblood before, Dorea sees it as a vast improvement.

"Is everyone else out?"

"Master Sirius, Master Harry, Mister Ronald, and Master are both asleep upstairs, the new... _Mistress_ Potter and Mister Potter are out in the Orchards, and Mister Lupin went out with Master Charlus a couple hours ago," Kreacher begrudgingly supplies her with all of the information she requested.

Dorea smiles softly, Walburga may have tainted him, but he really wasn't a bad Elf. Simply misguided.

Dorea puts her coat down on one of the empty rungs and then nods at Kreacher, "thann you. I'll go into the Drawing Room now...do they have any tea?"

" _Mipsy_ is preparing it, Mistress Dorea," Kreacher says coldly. Dorea stifles a laugh, the two House Elves have been at odds since the moment they laid eyes on each other. It hasn't come to blows yet, but knowing Mipsy's intolerance for impertinence and rudeness, it may soon.

Dorea nods gratefully, "thank you, Kreacher. Let the others know we have guests if they are still here when they either wake up or return."

Her black stilettos clipping across the hardwood is the only sound in the house, and everything is strangely peaceful; which is strange in and of itself.

Their home hadn't been peaceful after James was born, and then when he had brought Sirius, Peter and Remus home that first Christmas when he was eleven, things had only gotten louder. Now that Hermione, Ron, Harry and Lily were all here, there was always some mirth, joy or _something_.

Dorea pushes open the doors to the Drawing Room and is pleasantly greeted by polite chatter.

Narcissa and Hermione seem to be engaged in some type of pleasantries, whilst Lucius is sitting beside his wife on the loveseat looking out of place and a touch uncomfortable.

"Ah, hello! Sorry to be late, but it seemed like everyone was in Diagon Alley today," Dorea says exasperatedly with a playful smile, she turns around and gently closes the doors behind her.

Narcissa stands up, a soft smile on her face, hands clasped in front of her.

The witch is dressed in thick navy blue casual robes, and she's wearing small sapphires in her ears and the only other jewellery is her wedding band and engagement ring.

Lucius is dressed in all black, and from how rigid he appears, with the buttons done up all the way to his throat, it only seems to enforce how uncomfortable he is.

Hermione is wearing a dark grey, long sleeved crop top that she got from Lily-amongst other clothes, thankfully she wasn't much bigger than Lily, it was nothing a few spells couldn't fix-and a pair of black leggings and black ankle boots, her wild curls are pulled back into a high ponytail, that swishes as she angles her head to look at Dorea.

"Welcome back!" Hermione exclaims cheerily, "were the rings ready?"

"They were indeed-" Dorea smiles, patting her robes pocket, "-of course he tried to charge me more than was originally agreed upon. How silly of him."

She had had the man quaking in his boots by the time she was done with him. He tried to add in some rubbish charges because he 'hadn't calculated in certain factors' when giving her the quote for both rings.

"I think Mipsy is bringing up tea, or so Kreacher said," Dorea announces, crossing the room and kissing Hermione on the cheek before sitting down beside her on the couch.

Narcissa sits back down, and puts a hand on Lucius's thigh, looking the vision of grace and composure.

"I suppose you are wondering why I've asked you round for tea," Dorea smiles.

At that exact moment, Mipsy appears in the room with a pop, in her hands is a silver tray, four teacups, a teapot, a small bowl of sugar cubes and a small pitcher of milk; there was also a plate of blueberry scones, that looked fresh out of the oven.

"Thank you my darling," Dorea says as Mipsy places the tray on the coffee table.

"Anything else, Mistress?" Mipsy asks, a pensive look on her face as she tacks on, "I can get a Calming Draught for Mister Malfoy if he needs one, he looks a bit tense."

Dorea chuckles softly, shaking her head a touch, "no, thank you. I think Mister Malfoy will be just fine. If you could, can you wake up all of the sleeping boys. It's almost midday after all."

"Yes, Mistress," Mipsy curtseys, and vanishes not even a moment later.

Dorea leans forward and begins to pour the tea into the four teacups-everyone can fix it how they like after that, but as a good hostess, it's the least she can do.

"You are correct, we are most... _intrigued_ by your invitation," Lucius says in his deep, but polished sounding voice-each syllable is paid great attention.

"Well. It's simple. I've decided to give you an option based on the hunch that my lovely Hermione has about you," Dorea says calmly, moving her fingers to levitate the pitcher of milk and pour a dash into her tea.

"An _option_?" Lucius repeats, his eyes narrowing slightly. Dorea notes how Narcissa's nails dig into his leg at his tone, but to his credit he doesn't outwardly react in the slightest. "Also who exactly is _Hermione_ , where has she come from, and what does she know about us?"

"All of those are good questions, your answer to my proposal will dictate how much information I decide to disclose to you," Dorea says with a warm smile, but her grey eyes are a sharp, steely grey when they look into Lucius's own bluish-grey ones.

"I'll play, what is your proposal, Missus Potter?" Lucius leans back fully in the loveseat, his left ankle not resting across his right knee, hands casually resting in his lap.

It's a position that normally exudes power, but Dorea has dealt with older and more experienced men that Lucius Malfoy, so it doesn't faze her in the slightest.

"I know that you are a Death Eater, that your Father is one-which is a shame really, we've always been good friends, and I am giving you the opportunity to change sides," Dorea says cavalierly as she takes a sip of her tea. _Ah, just the right temperature_ , Dorea thinks as the hot liquid warms her insides.

"This is outrageous! I will not sit here and have you talk to me in this manner, as a matter of-" Lucius starts, eyes ablaze, voice filled with self righteous anger, until Narcissa's fingers digging violently into his leg stops him.

"Be silent, Lucius-" Narcissa says icily, but her tone is warm and inviting as she addresses Dorea, "-do continue, Dorea."

"Cissa. We cannot sit here and listen to a Mud-"

" _Lucius_ ," Narcissa snarls. Her husband instantly falls silent, and his face shifts into a stoic expression, as cold and emotionless as stone.

"It isn't without risk of course," Hermione starts, taking over. "I am from the future in a...different universe. I went to school with your son."

"Our son?" Narcissa asks with a dreamy and happy expression, "were you friends?"

"No. Draco was a prat for the most part, much like his Father. He was prejudiced and he bullied me and my friends...but he was forced into dire circumstances during the Second Wizarding War. He became a Death Eater, and _your_ life was at risk Narcissa. Lucius had failed _him_ , and as a result, Draco was given the impossible task of killing Dumbledore under threat of your life being on the line."

"No. My son...was...no," Narcissa frowns, "there must be some mistake."

"I do believe that Draco changed and was just as scared and terrified of Voldemort-"

"You _dare_ say his name?" Lucius hisses.

" _Yes_ ," Hermione snaps, "I dare."

"I will take away your tongue in a moment, Lucius," Narcissa warns, her blue eyes sparking.

Dorea is drinking her tea, enjoying every moment.

"My main point is that Draco didn't have a choice. He was forced into a life that was thrust upon him by _you_ and _your_ Dark Lord," Hermione growls, huffing out heavily.

"You said Second Wizarding War…" Narcissa trails off, the question at the end, lingering in the air.

"Your Dark Lord will fall Lucius. He will fall and once he does, if you are not aligned with the right side, I will ensure that you are left with _nothing_. Anyone that supported him wholly and completely will be left with nothing. _Nothing_ ," Dorea says, there is no honey to coat her words this time, only fire and a cold promise.

Lucius seems to be thinking deeply about her words, and Dorea knows that he's considering telling the Dark Lord what he's learned. It's a risk that they calculated for.

Hermione is confident that Narcissa will want to protect her future son, or any children that they have, she'd proved it in their universe when she lied to Voldemort about Harry being dead. She is also confident that Lucius's love of Narcissa will triumph and it will pull him over to their side.

Hermione is apparently very skilled with memory charms, so obliviating them wouldn't be an issue. Plus she knows the Malfoys are trusted by Voldemort now, so there would be no reason for him to search either of their minds. On top of all of that, Abraxas is a brilliant Occlumens, and she can't imagine that he didn't teach his son the skill.

Narcissa is looking imploringly at her husband, Hermione's declarations have clearly caused something to shift in the witch.

Hermione looks worried as Lucius ponders all of his options, most likely wondering if she has miscalculated. If this dimension's Lucius is incorruptible and unable to be swayed to their side.

Lucius looks up then, and Dorea can see the inner war he is having with himself. His interlaced fingers untangle and he grabs onto Narcissa's hand that is now limply resting on his thigh.

"How do we start?" Lucius asks.


	25. I Love You, Potter

**My darling, darlings!**

 **My muse cooperated last night, and thus I was able to write this chapter. I must warn you that there is smut in this chapter. Smut. Not between Hermione and Remus though, that's all I'm going to say, but there's still smut ;) This chapter is a bit of a flashback chapter, after this we'll be back to the present.**

 **Thank you all for your continued support, seriously omg, you are all lovely!**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Sable and Lais xxx my loves.**

* * *

 **Sunday, March 25th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

The birds happily chirping outside their window is driving him mental. The damn birds have been singing since dawn broke, and that's practically when everyone finally made it to their beds.

James peers over at the redhead soundly slumbering beside him and purses his lips. Lucky witch can sleep through anything. Some of her hair is falling in her face, and she barely managed to scrub off most of her makeup before she collapsed in bed a couple hours ago.

Her wedding dress is strewn across the floor beside most of his clothes, the only stitch of clothing on her is her cream lace panty. He was simply in black boxers.

James props himself up on his side, leaning forward to pull the blanket up further on his wife's body. His _wife_. It feels so surreal, and in that moment he's afraid to look away from her, because if he does she's sure to disappear.

He doesn't know how long he lay there watching her, his fingers lightly stroking along her side, but then she makes a soft sound, and she begins to blink lazily.

"What time is it?" She murmurs, turning her head into her pillow.

"Not long after we went to sleep," James responds softly, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder.

Lily stiffens beneath him, and she almost smacks him in the face with her body-he was just pulling back-as she sits up abruptly.

She practically launches herself at him, and next thing he knows, she's cradling his face and her breasts are brushing against his chest.

"Lily?"

"We didn't have sex last night!" Lily exclaims, bright green eyes widening exponentially.

 _I take it that's my cue to put up locking and silencing charms_ , James thinks to himself, hurriedly muttering the spells under his breath before everyone in the Manor hears their conversation...and anything else that's likely to occur.

"No...we didn't," James says slowly.

"We have to consummate our marriage!" Lily says with urgency, squeezing his face.

"Love. Not that I don't _really_ want to do that too, but shouldn't we both get some more sleep?" James asks.

Lily quirks an eyebrow, and he instantly recognises the look. He wasn't sure whether to thank Merlin or Morgana in that moment. She'd taken the question as a challenge.

"When I'm through with you, we'll both be able to get _plenty_ of sleep," Lily smirks, catching her bottom lip beneath her front teeth.

"Godric I love you," James chuckles, tilting his face up and kissing her chin.

Lily frowns, her bottom lip now sticking out in a pout. James rolls his eyes at the display. He's also thankful that she's so close, because anything further than about six inches away and he can't see anything.

James sits up, bringing Lily with him, and kicks off the sheets that are in the way. Pulling her flush against him, and this time he captures her lips in a searing kiss.

Lily grins into the kiss, one hand on his nape, playing with the short hairs there, and the other delving into the messy mop of raven hair on his head.

"Baby, I want you to fuck me," Lily pants into their kiss.

"What's the magic word?" James laughs, happy that his tongue is still in his mouth or Lily probably would have nipped at it for being an _arrogant toerag_.

"Don't know what you're talking about," Lily says harshly, biting down on his bottom lip, suckling away it at a split second later.

"Okay, darling," James says, and he rolls his hips upwards, in full contact with Lily's centre and he knows that she felt the bulge in his pants.

"Potter," Lily snarls, pulling on his hair.

" _Potter_ ," James retorts.

"Fucking wanker. Just _fuck_ me already," Lily growls, the hand by his nape moving down to tug at his boxers waistband in protest.

" _Say please_ ," James whispers against her lips. Lily presses her lips against his, her nails digging into his skin.

"Please. You _wanker_."

"You married this wanker," James smirked.

"I did," Lily says, leaning back a little bit, and James sees that tears are starting to brim in her eyes.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's a happy thing right?" James says, hands grasping her face, and his thumbs wipe away the tears that begin to leak over.

"Of course it is. I just love you so much," Lily cries, her arms wrapping around him, and before either of them knows it, he's hugging her to him, one hand around her back, the other cradling the back of head.

"I love you, Lily Potter," James says in a soothing tone.

At some point they shift so that James is lying on his back and Lily is laying on top of him. Lily pushes herself up, and her dark eyelashes flutter for a moment before she leans in and kisses her wizard deeply. There's something potent and raw in the way their lips move against each other, something vulnerable in their shared soft pants.

James isn't sure how it happens, but their remaining clothing is discarded. Skin to skin. Whispered sweet nothings, James wiping the remainder of Lily's tears, a slow rolling of her hips, his move up to meet hers. His arms are wrapped around her back, her fingers are pulling at the sheets on either side of him.

It's slow and the heat builds up exponentially, Lily is whimpering and James is so _close_. With a loud grunt, he spills over the edge and they both lay there for a moment, sweat dripping and panting heavily.

"Your turn," James pants out, and Lily makes a small squeak when he flips them over. Lily's bright green eyes are shining with love and sparkling with mischief. James slides down her body, reaching up to interlace their fingers with one hand, the other holding down one of her creamy thighs as his head dips between her legs.

Lily's back arches when his tongue swipes up-a long, slow stroke. He's lapping at her cunt, and her free hand is fisted in his hair. It's only a matter of time before her thighs are quivering and she's screaming his name and she too falls over the edge.

Lily lets go of his hair and brushes it back, away from his forehead. James rests his cheek against her thigh and grins smugly.

"C'mere," Lily says in a light, airy tone, her chest rising and falling. James turns his head to place a gentle kiss on her thigh.

James crawls up his witch's body and carefully placing his body along the length of hers. He peppers kisses on her cheek, and Lily begins to laugh gaily.

Lily's arms slide across his back, and she grasps one of her wrists with her other hand, hugging him tightly.

That is how they both fall asleep, slipping away into the land of dreams, holding each other in each other's arms.

* * *

 **Tuesday, March 27th, 1979**

 **James Potter's birthday**

 **Potter Manor**

 **Orchards**

"I brought more Firewhisky!" Sirius exclaims as he crosses the slightly wet grass to where everyone else is gathered around the firepit on the edge of the Orchards.

The Marauders had spent two days building it a couple years ago, piling the stone in a big circle-at least a three and a half foot radius. When they were finished with the pit, the boys had managed to cut down a few of the older trees that were in danger of falling down anyways, to form a wide ring of seats around the firepit.

It had been used on many a mirthful night before, but this was the first time since the golden trio had come into their time.

The radiant flames devour the logs and kindling that they had carefully piled together earlier, crackling and thin tongue of fire are lashing at the sky above.

Lily is sitting on James's lap, her long hair thrown up into a messy bun, her tattoo on full display and the slightly orange glow from the flames is bathing her and everyone else in the near vicinity.

Harry and Ron greet Sirius, and the three wizards strike up a conversation, laughing about something or another.

Remus however is much more interested in the brunette beside him, who is currently staring-almost in a trance-like fashion-at the flames.

"Hermione," Remus leans over and whispers in her ear. The witch stiffens slightly, but relaxes almost instantly. She turns towards him with a warm smile, one that lights a toasty heat in his chest.

"Remus," Hermione says, shifting so that she's closer to him, their sides now touching from their shoulders to their thighs.

"You okay?"

"Grand," Hermione says. Remus cocks an eyebrow expectantly, he may not have known her for _that_ long, but he does know that she isn't being entirely honest.

"You sure?" Remus asks, putting his butterbeer on the grass, and keeping it upright between the insides of his feet. He leans in closer, not even hesitating before he wraps one arm around her shoulders.

Hermione's blush creeps onto her cheeks, and the shadows from the fire are flickering across her face. Remus bites his lip, teeth catching on his lip ring.

Neither of them has made anything official yet, why he isn't sure, but he is simply enjoying everything as it unfolds.

Remus can hear Hermione's heartbeat quicken, he sees her eyes flutter shut, and she leans in.

Remus meets her halfway, and her lips are so soft, and yet she is nothing but fire.

It feels like he's playing with a literal ball of fire as she kisses him, searing kisses.

She's pressing closer and _closer_ , and his senses are being smothered by caramel and vanilla. It's _delightful_. Everything feels right, and like it's fitting into place.

Hermione seems to have a fascination with playing with his lip ring with her tongue, and he absolutely loves it. He loves how her hands delve so easily into his hair, and how she opens up entirely to him.

He doesn't care that Sirius is wolf whistling in the background, or that Lily just stole the bottle of Firewhisky from a protesting Sirius and is now taking a long drag straight from the bottle.

All he's concerned about now is the witch in his arms, who is soft yet all fire and heat at the same time. She nips his bottom, seeking full entrance to his mouth and he readily gives it to her. His fingers dance along her spine and pull her in closer.

Her light pants are going to be his undoing. _Moony_ is fully awake, and he seems to want something, but Remus has no idea what it is. _He's_ trying, desperately, to tell Remus something, but he can't focus on that now. It's inconsequential.

Remus's hand moves of its own accord, and before he knows it, Hermione is sideways in his lap, her hands grasping his face-nails lightly scratching against slight scruff on his face.

One of his hands is on her arse, the other on her waist.

She's wearing a pair of black leggings and a dark brown jumper and short ankle boots, and he's just glad she isn't wearing a dress, cause he doesn't trust that his hands wouldn't have wondered.

It seems to occur to them both simultaneously that they have company, and the kiss slows, ending with a small kiss on the corner of Remus's mouth.

"You done, Moony?" Sirius asks, wriggling his eyebrows. He raises the bottle of Firewhisky that he had just stolen back from Lily, and proposes a toast, "to James, my best mate. Happy birthday, Prongs. I will now drink to your health."

Hermione looks down and frowns; as a result of their spontaneous snogging session, Remus's butterbeer spilled.

"Oi! It's bad luck if we all don't drink!" Remus exclaims, holding Hermione securely around the waist and standing up. Carefully putting her down before hurrying over to Sirius. Stealing away the Firewhisky bottle and taking a swig himself.

James laughs as he takes a drag from his butterbeer, and Lily takes a sip from the glass of Firewhisky she poured herself. Ron and Harry had their own bottle of Firewhisky that they had been sharing the entire evening.

Hermione rolls her eyes before walking up to Remus and taking the bottle from him, taking a sip and grimacing slightly as the burning liquid scorches a trail down her throat.

Hermione hands it back to him, patting his chest before going over to Harry and Ron and squeezing herself between them.

She grabs a hold of Ron's hand and lays her head on Harry's shoulder.

"It's amazing how much can change in such a short period of time," Ron says, giving Hermione's hand a light squeeze.

"It is," Hermione agrees with a nod, her other hand moving to grasp Harry's.

That is how they stayed, the golden trio simply revelling in the moment, admiring how strange yet wonderful it is that they are where they are.

Sirius, Remus, James and Lily begin to dance around the firepit, singing a song that Dorea had taught the boys one summer, and it had become a tradition to sing it around the fire.

It's not long before the golden trio gets dragged into the festivities, feeling alive and free. Singing songs from days long since gone, created by people long since buried in the earth and at peace.

The fire seems to dance alongside them, swirling and twirling.

They celebrate into the night, until the flames begin to dwindle and the begin to tire. Their bodies pleading for sleep, and sleep they did. They all barely make it back into the house-reaching the Sun Room-before they collapse.

Sprawled across the various pieces of furniture, Hermione, Ron and Harry on one couch-somehow all squished together-Lily and James on one daybed and Sirius and Remus on another.

They slumber as the inky blue sky bleeds into lighter, more colourful colours. All of them happy, and healthy. For now.

* * *

 **I'm going to try and respond to reviews later today, or tomorrow sometime. I'm literally being swamped with work right now, ugh.**

 **Love,**

 **Indieblue xx**


	26. All I Wanted Was A Glass Of Juice

**My darlings! Happy Sunday!**

 **Hehe, I'm so glad everyone liked the last chapter ;) all of your reviews have made me so happy!**

 **The muse has been on a bit of a roll the last few days with Dalliance, she's wanted to write nothing else when I've found time to write. Which is how you've gotten this chapter. Originally the last scene was meant to go a little bit differently, but this way just seemed to flow better. Even if the original premise was the same. I do hope you enjoy this chapter!**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Sable and Lais xxx**

 **This chapter is dedicated to Henny and DrWho. WhereAreYou xox, you lovely lovelies you.**

* * *

 **Saturday, March 31st, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

 **Regulus Black's Room**

How Harry ended up in here he isn't entirely sure.

Since being here Regulus has barely uttered a word to him-even in passing-so the fact that it's _him_ inside this room is quite strange.

Then Harry recalls how he had followed Kreacher in here, getting lost in the past, in his own time, in his old dimension. Kreacher is meant to be helping out downstairs, but he was blatantly refusing, saying he had to attend to his Master, and that he would help feed the rest of their gluttonous mouths later.

Before he knows it, he is staring at the similar grey eyes of the man he grew to know as a Godfather, and now as a friend. Except these eyes hold no emotional connection towards him, they are brimming with curiosity and nothing more.

"Kreacher," Regulus says, and the House Elf freezes in his tracks, looking up eagerly at his Master.

"Why are you in here?" Regulus asks Harry in a bored tone, however there's now a swirl of cold iron in his irises.

"Kreacher is supposed to be assisting Mipsy downstairs," Harry says after swallowing jerkily, eyes darting in the direction of the smug looking House Elf-standing as tall as he can in spite of the curve in his spine.

Regulus is standing over by the windows on the far side of the room, the wide and tall windows are open, and the fresh Spring breeze is blowing into the room-tousling through Regulus's hair.

There are some books piled on top of the window seat in front of Regulus-most likely he had borrowed them from the library. He tends to spend most of his time in there or in his room in between meals. Harry doesn't blame him, he doesn't really know any of them.

"Kreacher. Go and assist Mipsy," Regulus instructs the House Elf, whose eyes widen a fraction, his shoulders hunching inwards, and the bravado he had moments prior deflates. Kreacher nods regardless, bowing deeply in Regulus's direction before vanishing with a pop.

"Right. I'll just. Um. Leave then," Harry says awkwardly, pushing his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose. Harry hesitates for a second, long enough for Regulus to say, "wait."

Harry halts, and waits patiently, bright green eyes gleaming with intrigue.

"What was it like? Your past," Regulus asks softly, taking a few steps in Harry's direction, arms crossed over his chest. He's dressed quite simply, black trousers and a plain black, short-sleeved cotton t-shirt, bare feet.

"You mean if anything you did changed anything?" Harry asks, quirking an eyebrow.

There's a beat of silence, but from the look in Regulus's eyes, Harry can see clearly that that's _exactly_ what he meant.

Regulus's tongue darts out of his mouth quickly, wetting his lips before saying, "well I _know_ , you haven't told the others about what your friend Granger claims you three know." Regulus narrows his eyes slightly, head tilting to the side, "what I don't get is why."

"We defeated him. We destroyed all seven of _them_ -" Harry starts, brow puckering, and he shoves his hands in his jean pockets, Regulus's mouth parts, his eyebrows shoot upwards and there's an incredulous expression on his face, but he doesn't say anything, "-we haven't told them because we have no idea how we're going to get rid of them in this dimension.

We don't have the one you got from him, because he thinks you're dead and in our dimension he borrowed Kreacher whilst he was hiding the locket."

"He already borrowed Kreacher," Regulus says reticently.

Harry takes a step forward, shock splayed across his features, " _he did_?"

"Yes. Kreacher almost died, it took two weeks to nurse him back to a somewhat healthy state. I was planning to investigate since Kreacher said it was _dark, dark_ magic that the Da-that _he_ was dabbling in. I had actually planned on going a few days after Dorea, Sirius and Granger showed up," Regulus responds curtly.

"This changes everything," Harry says, roughly running a hand through his hair, shock exploding from his expression and body language. There is almost a spark of energy radiating off of his skin, as if Harry's magic is humming and trying to express itself as well.

"Does it really?" Regulus asks dubiously, his hands falling to his sides as he warily stares at Harry.

"Yes." Harry confirms, the word comes out as a happy, cheerful noise-it bubbles out of Harry's throat and dances its way off his tongue.

"It means that we know where it is, and that's one less horcrux that we have to worry about," Harry grins, part of the worry that has been plaguing him is instantly diffused. There's a chance. After all, if they had done it once before, they can do it again. It isn't going to be easy, but a glimmer of hope is peeking through the doubt and anxiety that he had had about the whole situation.

"Why are you smiling, Potter?" Regulus frowns.

"We're going to tell everyone else soon...and when we do, I want you to be there," Harry smirks, a boyish charm to him as he turns on his heel and leaves the room with a bounce in his step. Leaving a gobsmacked Regulus in his wake.

"They're all _mental_ , all of them," Regulus says, shaking his head in disbelief.

* * *

 **Sunday, April 1st, 1979**

 **April's Fools**

 **Potter Manor**

"Happy birthday Fred and George," Harry whispers.

The raven haired boy is sitting on the edge of the King sized bed, the sun is ascending slowly, and chasing away the night with its long, radiant fingers of colour. The ginger haired boy is passed out beside him, head buried under his pillow, most of the sheets are tangled around his frame. The brunette's ankles are interlocked with the ginger's, and her nose is inches away from the boy's forearms.

They are both slumbering away peacefully-right now at least. It had been a rough night, Ron was inconsolable, grieving the family he had lost, raw unbridled emotions had poured out of the ginger haired man.

Losing Fred had been bad enough at the end of the War. Heck, trying to get George out of bed most days was a waste of time, utterly futile.

It only now seems to be really sinking in for Ron that his family is gone, or at least the family that he once knew. Molly, Arthur, and all of his older brothers are alive in this time-it is the twin's first birthday today after all-but it simply isn't the same.

Ron is petrified when anyone brings up going to see them. He knows it isn't rational, but he refuses to go and meet them. Part of him believes that they will turn him away, shun him, hate him.

Harry and Hermione have offered to go with him, but part of him thinks that he isn't good enough, or that he will be an overwhelming disappointment.

Harry looks at his best mate, and reaches over to squeeze his shoulder gently. Under normal circumstances, Ron would have jolted awake, sense hardwired to survive due to being on the run during the War, but right now he's simply exhausted.

They were all bawling, sobbing, clutching at each other for anything to ground them. Rocking each other in the darkness as it swallowed them whole, choking them and smothering them in its embrace. It was the worst night-collectively-that they had all had since being here, by far.

 _I need a glass of juice or something_ , Harry thinks tiredly, pushing up off of the bed and silently padding across the room. There's an annoying itch on his side, and he scratches it as he leaves the room.

The hallways are dead silent, and he flinches at every noise the floorboards make as he descends the grand staircase.

Harry's vision is still slightly impaired by sleep as he heads past the "kitchen table" as everyone called it, even though it's in its own room-so he doesn't notice the figure sitting there with a glass of milk.

Not even Mipsy is awake, which makes it all the easier for him to sneak into the icebox, he has to rifle around for a few moments in order to find the glass bottle of orange juice that he's looking for. He places it on the counter and then goes in search of a glass.

Harry sleepily reaches up and opens one of the cabinets, the hinges creaking as he does so. He quickly locates a glass and grabs it, closing the cupboard and putting the glass on the counter.

He screws off the cover to the glass bottle, picking up the bottle and pouring the juice into the glass until it's three quarters full.

When he's finished, he screws back on the cover, picks up the bottle, opens the icebox and puts it back from whence it came.

Harry grabs his glass of juice and takes a sip as he turns back around to leave the kitchen.

Then he freezes, a jolt of electricity shoots up his spine, his feet are stuck to the floor, growing roots in that moment that furiously furrow into the ground.

He almost sputters on the juice in his mouth, but he swallows it down, the tangy taste spreading across his palette.

Bright green eyes meet hazel green ones. The raven haired boy is staring-dumbfounded-at the frosty blue haired girl. Whose face is alight with friendliness, and her light pink mouth slightly agape as she looks like she's about to say something. However she frowns deeply when she peers closer, then her eyes snap open in a violent fashion.

She tilts her head as if she's confused, and then she says, "James. I know it's April Fools, and you love your wife...but why did you change your eye colour so early in the morning?"

 _Oh. I can salvage this. I can pretend that I'm James, and no one would be the wiser. Bloody hell, why is she here? On a Sunday. At the crack of dawn,_ Harry's mind is whirring at a mile a minute, and he then becomes acutely aware of the fact that he is only wearing maroon boxers, and nothing else.

Harry of course glances down at his bare chest, and then back up at Emmeline. Who is now staring at him with fascination.

Emmeline walks closer, she is wearing a black satin top, and a pair of black shorts to match, there's a lace trim across the top's neckline. Her shapely legs are on full display, and Harry has to rip his gaze away.

Harry knows that James and himself look almost identical, aside from the fact that one of them is slightly taller, their eyes, and that they _sound_ entirely different.

"Is it a charm, or did you transfigure them? You always were brill at Transfiguration," Emmeline says, and she's now within arm's reach.

Her voice is a touch deep, but it still somehow sounds light and airy. It doesn't make sense, but Harry senses that _she_ doesn't make sense either.

"James?" Emmeline asks again, but then she takes a step back, and she's pulling a wand from _who knows where_ , and she says coldly, "who are you? You're not James."

* * *

 **I'm going to try and respond to reviews when I can! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.**

 **Love,**

 **Indieblue xxx**


	27. April Fools

**Hello my dears!**

 **Okay, so which one of you lovely, _lovely_ people nominated Dalliance for the Marauder Medal Awards?! I''m going to leave the link here if anyone wants to go and vote (for anyone, you don't have to vote for me): _https:**goo . gl*forms*UC6ctdDUKRUH7OMF2_ (just replace the astericks with / and take out the spaces, since ffn doesn't like links) It's still insane that I've been nominated for two categories. Especially Best WiP for Dalliance. Insane. **

**Everyone seemed to love last chapter, and I'm so happy about that, you would not believe :D This chapter ought to be a little fun, I really do hope you all like it.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Previously...**

 _"James?" Emmeline asks again, but then she takes a step back, and she's pulling a wand from who knows where, and she says coldly, "who are you? You're not James."_

* * *

"I never said I was," Harry says calmly, raising his hands to show that he's doesn't mean any harm, and he cautiously- _slowly_ -puts his glass of juice on the counter beside him.

He makes no movement to reach for the wand tucked behind his ear. His hands stay raised in the air, palms facing her.

Unlike before, he's somehow perfectly relaxed. Maybe it's the number of times he's had a wand pointed at him. Maybe it's because he's curious and focused on how she _knew_ that he isn't James. Aside from the eyes. _How_ did she know is a question he's interested in asking her.

"Who are you?" Emmeline hisses.

"Why are you here?" Harry asks in kind.

"I was going to leave my flat last night, when I noticed some suspicious looking men hanging about, so I packed a bag in a hurry and came through the floo-I closed it off to my place when I got here. This is the first place I knew I would be safe…" Emmeline trails off, and her brow furrows further. "You know what? It's none of your damn business."

The strange part is even though she's uncomfortable-that much is abundantly clear-her body language isn't closed off. One hand hanging limply by her side as opposed to crossed over her chest-that can also have to do with the fact that she's still pointing a wand at him; she's facing him-her bare feet are pointed in his direction-and she's giving him her full attention. It's something deeper than that though, he can _feel_ her uncomfortableness.

"I'm Harry. We met at Lily and James's wedding," Harry says softly.

"No. _We_ definitely didn't meet. I would remember you," Emmeline says, tone as cold and sharp as ice.

"I didn't quite look like this-" Harry admits, letting his hands drop heavily to his sides, sighing before he shifts and leans back against the counter, "-I did introduce myself as Harry though if you recall. At the refreshments table. I was with my friend ' _Rupert_ '."

Emmeline's wand hand is lowering, and all the tension in her body seems to dissipate. Harry has to remind himself that even though they are the same age, they have had different lives. War changes people after all, not to mention all the things have happened to him over the last few years.

Recognition dawns on her face, and she narrows her eyes at him, searching for the young wizard that she met not even a week and a half ago.

"That still doesn't answer my question. Who are you really?"

"I, Emmeline Vance, am Harry James Potter," Harry responds with a soft exhale.

Emmeline's lips twist to the side, she cocks an eyebrow, and shoots him a mocking expression, "right. Like I'm going to believe that."

"Ah, shit," a voice says from behind both of them, and Harry spots Lily. The redhead's hair is thrown into a messy ponytail, and she's wearing James's old Quidditch jersey and a pair of black knickers as far as he can see.

"Morning, Lily. Look who's come round to visit," Harry says calmly, crossing his arms over his chest and jerking his chin in Emmeline's direction. His heart however is now beating at a mile a minute.

"Emmie, what are you doing here?" Lily asks with a frown, walking over to her friend, and drawing her in for a partial hug.

"Some blokes were watching my flat," Emmeline answers, voice laced with confusion as she glances between Lily and Harry.

"I suppose this means we're going to have to tell the our other friends now too...don't we, Harry?" Lily asks, lips pursed.

"We were planning on telling them soon, either way," Harry sighs. "We couldn't keep it a secret forever."

They had planned on telling Frank, Alice, Dorcas, Marlene, and Emmeline about Harry and Ron soon, they hadn't figured exactly when or how to broach the subject, but they knew that they wanted to tell them. Sirius had already told them all about Hermione, or they would be informing them about her as well.

"We'll inform the others when they wake up. Anyways, is everyone okay this morning?" Lily asks. Then distractedly she clicks her tongue, and removes herself from Emmeline, stopping to kiss Harry's cheek in greeting before bypassing him.

She bends down by one of the cabinets on the far side of the room, the sound of jars clinking together-as she searches for _whatever_ it is she's looking for-fills the room.

"If you're looking for the huge bar of dark chocolate, it's over there," Harry says, pointing at a cabinet above the stove directly across the room from him.

Lily's head snaps in that direction with a glint of glee in her eyes. "Harry, you are such a _deer._ Thank you!" Lily jumps up, kicking the door closed with the side of her foot before scurrying over the cabinet.

Giggling giddily once she located the bar of chocolate. The crinkle of the wrapper crackles around the room, and Lily's facial expression melts into one of raw joy and happiness as she breaks off a piece of the chocolate. She practically whimpers when she pops it into her mouth.

"I love you, Harry," Lily professes, her slender fingers moving to break off another bit of chocolate.

That is clearly when Emmeline reached her breaking point. Emmeline doesn't like not knowing things, she _loves_ learning, and coming up with new theories, but as soon as she feels grossly left out of something, it makes her curl into a ball of uncertainty.

"What the _fuck_ is going on? This is bloody weird," Emmeline snaps loudly.

"You remember how Hermione is from another dimension and time? Harry is as well, as is Ron. They are all extraordinary." Lily shrugs, padding over to a free piece of counter, and then hopping up onto it. Placing the chocolate beside her after breaking off another piece.

Emmeline's face dawns with understanding, and she shakes her disbelief at herself, and Harry hears her mutter, "why didn't I figure it out before? It makes perfect sense. Though, to be fair, we only got told about Hermione." Emmeline freezes, as if it then occurs to her that she's thinking aloud. She clears her throat, and then gives Lily her undivided attention.

"Harry would be our son-James and I that is-in that dimension. We were both killed, and a _lot_ of other shit happened, but Harry and his two best mates popped out of nowhere-" Lily eyes widen, "-was it really a little under two months ago?"

Harry nods in confirmation.

"Shit. It feels much longer," Lily says thoughtfully.

"It does," Harry laughs softly.

"Alright. I think I'll go wake up the others and then I have some floo calls to make. We need to get everyone else here this evening and tell them. As long as it's convenient that is," Lily says, jumping off of the countertop, grabbing the chocolate and then she strolls back out of the kitchen. "See you both in a bit!" She calls over her shoulder.

"So…" Emmeline says awkwardly, taking an uncertain step towards him, tucking her wand into the waistband of her short shorts as she does.

"Start over?" Harry offers with a small smile, holding out his hand.

"Start over," Emmeline nods, grasping onto his hand; Harry feels a surge of warmth explode in his hand where their skin meets, and it shoots up his arm, leaving a tingly feeling behind-if Emmeline notices it, she doesn't make any indication of such.

"I'm Harry Potter, and I was a Gryffindor in school," Harry says, squeezing her hand lightly. He now knows what she saw that told her he wasn't James, because her eyes just flicked to it-his scar. The lightning bolt, he should have known. It is a dead giveaway after all. However, even though he knows she's dying to ask, she doesn't. Which only makes him like her more.

"Emmeline Vance, Ravenclaw," Emmeline smirks, using her free hand to tuck some of her short tresses behind her ear.

Neither of them makes a move to let go of each other's hand, but then the sound of a throat clearing in the kitchen doorway snaps them out of their quaint bubble. Harry angles his head to see who it is, and sees James and Sirius standing there, James's hand is across Sirius's mouth and he looks like he's trying to pull the raven haired boy away. James is shaking his head, and there's an apologetic expression on his face, however as Emmeline turns around to look both boys straighten out and are smiling widely, the picture of innocence.

"Morning," Sirius says, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

"Fuck off, Pads," Harry laughs lightly, squeezing Emmeline's hand once more before letting go-albeit reluctantly. She shoots him a shy smile once more, and then swivels on the balls of her feet to face the two Marauders.

"Sirius Black, I recall that you're fairly good at whipping up a good hearty breakfast-" Emmeline turns to Harry then, "-he used to go down to the kitchens some mornings, make a full breakfast and sneak it up to the dorms in the middle of the night. When the girls got wind of that, we used to slip into their dorm and we used to stay up for hours, eating breakfast foods and talking."

"So does that make me your breakfast making lackey?" Sirius cocks an eyebrow.

"Yupp, get on it," Emmeline teases.

"Okay, whilst you guys do that, I'm going to go wake up Hermione and Ron," Harry says, and he walks past Emmeline-but there's a spark of _something_ at their proximity and the back of his hand brushes hers when he passes by her.

 _Emmeline Vance certainly is something,_ Harry smirks as he pushes past the broadly smiling boys, Sirius then going into the kitchen and beginning to mill about and look for ingredients.

Today is proving to be very interesting so far. Something tells Harry it's only going to get more interesting as the day wears on.

* * *

Remus smothers a laugh as Marlene's stoic exterior cracks wide open as she walks into the Drawing Room and catches sight of Ron and Harry.

It's rare that the witch expresses her emotions so freely, and he hugs Hermione closer to his side. The honey brown haired witch kisses the side of his neck quickly, and grips his forearm tighter.

Remus and Hermione are leaning against one of the desks on the far side of the room. Dorea is pacing back and forth, a calculating look in her eyes. Charlus is standing by one of the windows. Lily, James and Sirius are on the couch, and Ron and Harry are seated in the loveseat facing the door. Emmeline is standing behind the loveseat. Frank and Alice-who got here moments ago-are sitting on the other loveseat adjacent to the couch.

Remus caught sight of the modest rock on Alice's finger, and joined everyone in congratulating them after they picked their jaws up off of the floor.

Only one they have to wait for now is Dorcas, the short witch bursts into the room not two minutes later-Regulus and Kreacher close on her heels.

"It seems everyone is here, right, we have a few things to explain." Dorea stops in the middle of the room, clapping her hands together. "First of all...nothing we says leaves this room. You must all swear on your magic not to breathe a word of this," Dorea gives them all a sharp look, and everyone doesn't hesitate to nod and agree.

It only takes a few minutes for everyone to swear, and in that time Remus ignores the sharp stare Marlene is shooting their way. Instead he buries his face in Hermione's curls. "You smell so good, you know that?" Remus murmurs so only she can hear him.

He knows that Sirius can hear him due to his heightened hearing, but he chooses to ignore that little nugget of information as well. He's heard _much_ worse things tumble out of Sirius's mouth.

"Hush-" Hermione smiles, squeezing his forearm lightly, "-this is supposed to be serious."

"Yea, and I'd like to be off snogging you...we don't always get what we want," Remus chuckles softly against the shell of her ear. Hermione responds with a playful pinch. Though he hears her heart pick up the pace and he grins. Turning back to pay attention to Dorea.

"You all know about Hermione-" Dorea pauses to gesture at Hermione, who merely half waves a tad awkwardly, "-but we didn't want to tell anyone about Harry and Ron just yet...we thought it best, since Hermione can integrate without anyone having to ask any questions, or not as many questions.

Harry and Ron wouldn't be as easy. If someone who looks exactly like my son shows up, people would start to ask questions. If someone who is clearly a Weasley shows up out of the blue, people would start to ask questions.

We just wanted to protect them," Dorea finishes, smiling wryly. "We didn't want to tell anyone about Hermione either...but Sirius kind of forced our hand there-" Dorea shoots Sirius a scolding look, and he merely grins goofily back at her, "-but we understood that he clearly trusts you lot."

"So...who are they exactly?" Frank asks, looking directly at Harry and Ron; the latter of which stands, but there's no smile on his face. Remus asked Hermione what happened last night since all of the trio looked like hell this morning, especially Ron-whose eyes were red-rimmed and had puffy, dark circles under them.

"We're from the future, like you know. I'm Ronald Weasley, sixth son of Molly and Arthur Weasley...and this is my mate Harry Potter," Ron says in a firm tone, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder when he mentions his name.

" _Sixth_ son?" Marlene narrows her eyes, "how many do they have now? Four?"

"Five," Ron, Hermione, Harry, Lily, Remus and Dorea answer immediately.

Marlene merely looks around her, unsure about how to react to the answer spoken in unison.

"It's my brother's birthdays today actually," Ron smiles weakly. The proclamation seems to float dead in the air, since no one knows how to respond. Dorea however simply opens her arms and beckons for him to come to her. Ron slowly trudges over there, his spirits are lower than Remus has ever seen.

Remus takes a quick glance at Hermione and sees how her adorable face is contorting with worry. He leans over to kiss her cheek gently.

At that moment Ron crumples in Dorea's arms and she rubs his back soothingly as she hugs him.

To distract from the sobbing ginger, Lily pipes up, "so who wants tea?"

Remus shakes his head fondly at the witch, she certainly knows how to diffuse the tension of a situation.

Half an hour later and things are a bit more relaxed, everyone is milling about and interacting. Then it occurs to Remus that he doesn't see Ron. He's about to ask Hermione where the ginger could be, when Charlus asks in his stead, but more generally, to the all of the occupants in the room. "Where's Ron?"

Everyone freezes, no one saw him leave the room. No one heard the door open and click back softly after him. No one saw him sneak upstairs and retrieve something before he headed outside of the Manor, to outside of the wards. No one saw him disapparate.

No one saw Ron leave.


	28. It's Almost A Reunion

**My darlings!**

 **I wasn't going to update this soon, I really wasn't...but then Dalliance hit 400 reviews?! Which is bloody _mental_. MENTAL I tell you. So this is a little early as a gift. I'm going to be insanely busy this week, I have _so_ much schoolwork ugh. So I'm sorry if you don't see any updates from me on a whole. The only thing may be the final chapter of It Was Her Ginger Hair, because I've been chipping away at it slowly when I can.**

 **THANK you for all of your reviews, seriously, they are AMAZING.**

 **Many of you guessed where Ron went ;) and you shall now see how that little bit of fun turned out.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Sable and Lais xxx my loves.**

 **This chapter is dedicated to Anoriel Thiliedis, Calebski and DrWho. WhereAreYou, and to everyone else who reviewed on the last chapter, just thank you. You definitely help make writing this all the more enjoyable xxx**

* * *

 **Sunday, April 1st, 1979**

 **April Fools**

 **Frederick and George Weasley's 1st Birthday**

Looking back, Ron has to admit this isn't his best idea.

A few days ago, whilst Remus and Charlus were out running errands-gathering supplies for the household, acquiring potions ingredients, stocking up on anything that was running low-Ron had asked Charlus if he would pick up a gift for his brothers.

Were they his little or big brothers now? Little big brothers? Ron shakes his head and dismisses the errant thought, it's trivial at best.

Charlus had come back with a pair of faux wands-the only 'magic' it was capable of was letting out harmless sparks of various colours depending on the user's mood, and two navy blue jumpers (of course small enough to fit two one year olds).

Ron had thanked the man profusely, and Charlus had gone a step further and gotten a box big enough to house it all in, and some wrapping paper with cartoon brooms that chase after quaffles, snitches and avoid bludgers.

Ron had put in a painstaking amount of effort into neatly wrapping the gift. Handwriting a short note-he'd tried to get it right countless times, the rubbish bin next to his desk in his room was filled to the brim.

 _Happy birthday to two of the brightest lights, and to the boys who bring joy into the lives of all they meet._

 _RW_

Which is how he ended up in Ottery St Catchpole. In front of the door that he has entered numerous times, a door that is as familiar as the back of his hand.

Ron's fingers run across the smooth wrapping paper, and he takes a deep breath.

He squats down, and gently places the gift on the doorstep in front of him. _Okay, right, brilliant. Now I can leave_ , Ron tells himself with a heavy sigh.

However, just as he stands up, he hears an all too familiar voice behind him. "Arthur, dear. I'm back! I cannot believe I forgot to go to Gringotts before today."

The afternoon sun is shining against the side of his face, and he knows that he looks a lot like his Father did at this age, but as soon as _she_ looks at him head on, she'll know that he isn't Arthur.

Ron's frozen, not sure what to do or say. If he says anything, she'll hear a completely different voice from that of her husband.

It never gets to the point where he has to explain that he isn't Arthur, because _Arthur_ opens the front door with a bright smile.

That smile fades in the blink of an eye, and Ron can hear that Molly's footfalls have halted-no more dirt crunching under her feet, no more whistling from the grass.

The footfalls begin again, and he feels something thin and hard point into the middle of his back. _Molly's wand_.

"Who are you?" Molly asks coldly, it's an inflection in her tone that he's only ever heard used against Sirius or anyone else trying to injure her cubs.

 _I was once one of those cubs_ , Ron thinks wryly, and he reluctantly meets Arthur's gaze.

"That's a long story...Mum."

* * *

Molly's finger is tapping the table incessantly as she stares at Ron with a perplexed expression.

Molly's hair is terribly long, much longer than he's ever seen it-hitting the middle of her back. She's dressed in a simple knee length dark chocolate brown dress, with a square neckline, and thick straps, she's also wearing a beige cardigan. Her bright brown eyes are narrowed at him, and she looks strikingly like Ginny in that moment. There's a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

Ron's heart had squeezed painfully a few minutes prior when Charlie had run into the living room, a muddy mess. The young boy had looked at Ron with curiosity but nothing more. To him he was still a stranger, and older person that, "looks a lot like Daddy."

Molly had scolded Charlie for tracking mud into the house, and told him to make sure that Bill wasn't getting into too much trouble. The young lad had nodded his head fervently before flying back out into the backyard.

Molly had waved her wand and vanished away the muddy footprints as soon as he was back outside.

"This is ridiculous," Molly shakes her head, looking directly at Arthur. "Ludicrous. If _any_ of what you just said is true, then that means _my_ husband has known about you for almost _two sodding_ months, and hasn't uttered a peep."

Molly is looking at Arthur scathingly, and he can only smile sheepishly back.

"Well...we didn't really talk, and it was quite an intense afternoon," Ron smiles tightly. "Not that many people know outside of a select group, and I didn't want to show up out of the blue…" Ron trails off, not really sure what else to say.

"Why did you come today then?" Molly asks softly, her hard stare melting into a much kinder expression. The chair she's in squeaks when she shifts slightly. Arthur is standing a few feet away, hands tucked into his trouser pockets.

"It's my big brothers' birthday," Ron laughs harshly, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing the heels of his palms to them for a brief moment. He takes a deep intake of breath and then removes his hands, when he opens his eyes, the edges of his vision are blurry and bright, multicoloured spots are dancing in front of him.

"Fred and George…" Molly trails off.

"Forge and Gred," Ron laughs. "Frederick and George Weasley, pranksters and joy bringer's to their core...and two of the best people in the world," Ron chokes on the last bit, fighting the brimming tears that threaten to fall with just one, hard blink. He sniffs loudly.

"Are you okay?" Molly asks, her hand moving to reach out to him, but she falters, instead clasping both of her hands tightly in her lap.

"Yea...I guess…" Ron shrugs. "It probably won't happen, or be the same as my dimension...since things have already changed...but I haven't seen Fred in months, and I hadn't seen much of George...so I'm a bit of a mess I spose."

"What do you mean, haven't seen Fred in months?" Arthur asks, and Ron knows that it's an innocent follow up question, that they have _no_ idea, but everything inside of him just bursts. The dam that he had erected months ago about how he truly felt about his brother's passing, snaps, breaks, cracks and crumbles.

" _HE'S GONE_ ," Ron snaps violently, hands moving to grasp his head, short fingernails digging into his scalp. He doesn't have any more tears. Just anger. Anger that Fred died, and he lived. Anger that George was irrevocably broken beyond understanding or comprehension. Anger that in his dimension, his parents have now lost two children.

Ron doesn't know how time travel and parallel universes work, but if he's _here_ , then he isn't _there._

He _knows_ what this means, he _knows_ that this is a second chance. A chance to fix everything. A chance to ensure that Fred lives. That Sirius lives. Remus. Tonks. Mad-Eye. Even that manipulative old coot, Dumbledore.

"Fred's gone," Ron says reticently. That's when Molly gives into whatever Motherly urges she has, and she surges forward. Pulling him tightly against her breast. Making soothing noises and rocking him back and forth.

In a small voice Arthur asks, "and George."

With all of the emotion that's charging the air, Ron doesn't know how he manages to respond, but he chokes out, "broken."

Molly holds him for a few moments, and as if they could both sense that they were needed. Fred and George are crawling into the house. Stopping every now and then to peer at things in fascination. Their chubby arms and legs moving remarkably fast as they take everything in.

Fred and George are identical, but Ron doesn't even need to look at the knitted jumpers with their initials on them to know who is who.

George stops by Arthur, sitting on his bum and grasping at his Father's leg.

Molly lets go of Ron as she hears the happy gurgling beside her. Ron watches as Molly stoops down to pick up her son, cooing at him before walking back towards Ron. "Do you want to hold him?"

Ron swallows thickly. Blue eyes blinking rapidly. He gives her a small nod. Molly smiles as she hands him the one year old, and suddenly, all of his anger and pain seems to just melt away. A knot that he didn't even know existed simply unravelled itself.

Everything fit again.

The little boy has short ginger hair, bright blue eyes, and a radiant smile. His chubby fingers reach out to pull on Ron's lip, and he finds himself laughing. Unabashedly. It's a joyous sound, and Fred himself starts to make a happy sound in response.

Fred lets go of Ron's lip, and Ron stands up, spinning the boy in a quick circle.

"Even as a little boy, you're a mischievous rascal, aren't you?" Ron laughs, shifting so that he's now hugging the boy to him, one arm under his bum to hold him up, the other on his back. Fred drools on his shoulder, but he frankly doesn't care.

This is the happiest he's been in a long time, and living with the Marauders and Potters had been extremely uplifting to say the least.

"Do...do you want to come round more often?" Arthur suggests, uncertainly rubbing the back of his neck, and Ron's smile freezes in place. He _never_ thought he'd hear that, and he fears his heart will burst with joy.

"Can I?"

"I don't see why not," Molly says softly, strolling over to her husband-who has George in his arms-and kisses his cheek.

"I'd love to," Ron says, a happy tear running down his cheek.

"Then, you're welcome to anytime," Molly smiles warmly.

Ron hugs Fred a bit tighter for a moment before bending down and carefully placing him on the floor. "I best be going. I didn't tell anyone where I was going, I had just planned on dropping off the gift and leaving."

Molly's eyes widen and she claps her hands together, "you aren't leaving without some cake! I made plenty-"

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Molly's look alone shut him up, "-and you can carry some for your friends as well. Dorea has a sweet tooth if I recall correctly!"

Molly bustles off into the kitchen, leaving Ron, Arthur and the twins alone. It's a touch awkward as neither wizard knows what to say.

"Sorry, uh, well that is. Sorry I didn't tell her about you," Arthur says, looking a modicum uncomfortable.

"It's fine. To be honest, I dunno how I would've reacted," Ron says in a reassuring tone, shoving his hands into his pockets.

A few minutes later, Molly returns with a basket, and nestled inside on a plate are several pieces of decadent looking chocolate cake. There is a thin, white netting secured on the top to help keep it protected against any flies etc.

A couple minutes after that, Ron's walking away and Molly, Arthur, Fred and George are waving goodbye.

A weight feels like it's been lifted up off of his chest, and it feels like he can breathe again, properly just _breathe._

The last rays of sunlight are reaching for the sky as they sink below the horizon, and Ron apparates away with a smile on his face.

* * *

Hands clasped together, elbows resting on his thighs, arms lax. Sitting on one of the starch white porch steps, his feet resting on two steps down. Unruly raven hair, hazel green eyes, smile lines etched into the corner of his eyes are around his mouth.

For some reason Ron is immensely glad it's _him_ waiting for him, and not one of his kin. He's especially glad it's not Hermione waiting for him, something tells him she'd hex him without a second thought.

"So you've returned...did you find what you were looking for?" Charlus asks, face impassive, but the mirth in his eyes is ever present.

"I'm guessing by that statement, you figured out where I went," Ron smiles wryly.

"You would be correct-" Charlus smirks, "-the others insisted on going to look for you, Harry of course was going stir crazy since he couldn't join in the effort. Hermione and Remus are the only ones still out."

"Normally I'd make a joke...but knowing Mione, she's probably really worried," Ron says soberly, his mood not as featherlight and cheerful as before. He had acted rashly, and hadn't thought about how the others would react to his sudden disappearance.

"What's that?" Charlus asks, and Ron can tell he's trying to defuse some of the guilt that is starting to cling to Ron's conscience. Ron looks down at the basket in his hands, and smiles softly at Charlus. "Mu- _Molly_ , sent some cake for everyone."

"She always a nice girl-" Charlus grins, "-she finished Hogwarts before James and the rest started, as did her younger brother Fabian-he graduated the year before they started. Gideon being the youngest was in his fifth year when began their first year," Charlus comments randomly, seeming lost in his musings.

"Yea...after Uncle Gideon and Fabian died..." Ron swallows, he hadn't even thought about them in all of this, though it made some sense after all, he'd never met them, they'd died a long time before he was born. Plus his Mother didn't like talking about them, or rather she couldn't without bawling her eyes out. "Anyways, she named Fred and George after them, in their honour. Her two younger brothers that were taken too soon," Ron says morosely.

"Did she still name your twin brothers after them?" Charlus asks with a deep frown.

"Yea. Why?" Ron asks.

"Cause they didn't die, they were both badly injured, having taken on five Death Eaters all by themselves, but they lived. Ron. Your uncles are still alive."

 _I certainly wasn't expecting that_ , Ron thinks, absolutely floored with the new information that has been thrust upon him. It seems there are more differences in this dimension than they thought.

* * *

 **Thursday, April 5th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

The Full Moon is in exactly one week, it's the only thing that Hermione can think about. It only makes the pressing urge to finish becoming an animagus even greater.

She's passing by the Foyer, about to head up the stairs to her room, when she hears a polite knock at the door. She frowns deeply. Anyone that can get within the wards doesn't need to knock. They are as comfortable here as they would be their own home.

 _I should talk to Dorea about those blood wards, and tightening security. It seems we're still slightly exposed_ , Hermione muses thoughtfully. She'll have to remember to bring it up at lunch later.

Then she catches a whiff of it, _Lemon_ -since resuming her training, her senses are extremely heightened, and she doesn't need to open the door to know who is on the other side.

Hermione has to stop herself from growling when she brashly pulls the door inwards. Exposing their _unwanted_ visitor, and she glowers darkly at him.

His long silver beard is tied a few inches from the end with a pair of small silver bells, he's wearing a pointed black hat, velvet, silvery blue robes that seem to glimmer and shine in the sunlight, on his feet are curved, black, enclosed slippers, his half moon spectacles are halfway down the bridge of his nose, and that _damn_ twinkle in his eye is sparkling away as it normally does. There's a silver rope sash tied around his hips. She can't quite discern what he's holding in his hands, but she _smells_ it, and this time she actually does growl.

How _dare_ he! Especially after what happened last time.

"What do you want?" Hermione asks gruffly, no niceties, no pleasant formalities. Dead and narrow, straight to the point.

"Hello again, Miss Granger. Is Mister Lupin home?"


	29. Disservice

**My dears!**

 **I finally finished It Was Her Ginger Hair, and it was quite a bittersweet feeling.**

 **THANK YOU ALL, for all your reviews and love, seriously, it's amazing and you are all amazing, and I'm incredibly happy! Schoolwork has been mental, exams are happening starting in the middle of next week, so if you don't see any updates for the next few weeks, now you know why.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Sable and Lais xxx (I think you'll like this Sable hehe)**

* * *

 _Previously…_

 _"What do you want?" Hermione asks gruffly, no niceties, no pleasant formalities. Dead and narrow, straight to the point._

 _"Hello again, Miss Granger. Is Mister Lupin home?"_

* * *

"Mipsy!" Hermione calls out, still blocking Dumbledore's entry into their home.

The Elf appears with a pop a moment later, wiping her wet hands across the front of her apron, "Yes, Miss Granger? Mipsy was just washing dishes she was," the House Elf was looking downwards until a beat after she finishes speaking. Her wide eyes travel upwards and then she sees the tall wizard standing on the other side of the door.

"Oh! Why is Dumbly here? Dumbly do bad things," Mipsy says crossly, her hands on her hips and her stance one of defiance.

"That is a _brilliant_ question, Mipsy," Hermione exclaims with mock joy. "Yes, Albus Percival Wulfric Dumbledore, what brings you to our humble abode?" Hermione asks in an overtly enthusiastic tone, but there's deep rooted distrust shining in her eyes, coated in a layer of fire and brimstone as she appraises the wizard before him.

"I wish to see Mister Lupin," Dumbledore says in a calm tone-one which is infinitely irritating to Hermione.

"There are a lot of things I wish for, unfortunately, wishes don't always come true," Hermione smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. She takes a deep breath, tightens her hold on the edge of the door and then angles her face down to Mipsy-who had walked until she was standing beside Hermione, "Mipsy, if you would be so kind as to inform Dorea that Dumbledore has decided to pay us a visit."

Mipsy gives a curt nod, and vanishes as Hermione turns her focus back to the wizard in front of her.

"Missus Potter needn't be involved," Dumbledore frowns, tapping his left foot on the ground softly, once.

"Needn't Mister Lupin," Hermione says wryly, lips pursed, her chin raised.

There are a few tense, uncomfortable moments, but then Hermione's heightened hearing picks up the angry sound of bare feet slapping against wood, and a small smile graces her face-the first since she had laid eyes on Dumbledore.

Finally Dumbledore must hear it as Dorea gets closer, and his calm facade splinters slightly, he tries to hide it, but she sees the desperation in his eyes, "please, Miss Granger. You must understand I am only working towards a better future, everything I do is for the-"

"-greater good?" Hermione asks, acid flying off her tongue. She narrows her eyes, "I think you forget that I _know_ **all** about _your_ greater good...and it isn't mine."

Dumbledore's expression shifts back into the friendly one that it previously held, to give the impression that he is just a wise, old man that wishes to help. She supposes to him, he is, but she did it his way once, and she sure as hell wasn't doing it again. The memories of starving, of losing hope in the middle of the forest, of being frustrated at how vague all of Dumbledore's instructions and clues were-are still fresh in her mind.

Closer and closer the footsteps get, and then Hermione hears irate footfalls behind her as Dorea practically flies down the grand staircase.

Hermione turns to look at Dorea, and her eyes widen slightly. Dorea's hair is flying about wildly, she's barefoot, she's dressed in casual emerald green day robes that came to her hips-however they are open and reveal her lacy black bra-and a pair of black satin shorts, that cover everything that need to, but it's the least dressed Hermione has ever seen the woman. It's also the most vehement she has seen her, and she inadvertently takes a step closer to the door to allow for Dorea to have a better view of Dumbledore.

Dorea's wand is clasped tightly in her hand, and a storm of emotions rolls across her face, tumbling and cracking, like the dark grey-darkening by the moment-rain clouds that are heavily floating about in her irises. There's magic crackling across her skin, and it looks like Dorea could shoot lightning from her fingertips if she so desired.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you are doing here?" Dorea snarls out, absolutely livid. Hermione wouldn't doubt that Dorea would win a duel between the two in that moment.

"Dorea, may you please cover your-" Dumbledore says, gesturing to her chest, and Dorea's eyes narrow to slits.

"Oh, _please_ , some tits are Albus Dumbledore's weakness? The _Great_ Albus Dumbledore was defeated by some breasts, I'm sure the Prophet will go mad with that article, front page," Dorea rolls her eyes.

"Dorea, please-"

"Hush, I know they don't bother you. If it was Charlus out here with his dick out, then maybe you'd have a problem."

" _What_ did you just say to me?" Dumbledore bit out, his pleasant exterior finally crumbling, and he took a menacing step towards Dorea, who merely raised her chin to maintain eye contact.

"You think I don't know? I know that you are gay, Dumbledore. I don't give a shit. You can be with whoever you want, that is of no importance to me. What _is_ important to me, is the fact that you _poisoned_ my son! Better, I should say, you got someone else to do it for you," Dorea's words lash out of her mouth like fiendfyre, the brilliant tongues wrapping around Dumbledore's limbs, cutting into his skin.

He deflates slightly, and is silent for a moment before saying, "Dorea. You must let go of your personal feelings in this matter, we need to know Voldemort's movements, and part of that is knowing what is going on in the werewolf packs."

Dorea had seemed to lose some of her fire for a moment, but her eyes snap open a fraction wider, a vein in her forehead pops and she raises her wand, pressing it under Dumbledore's chin. In a quiet voice she says, "that's what this is about? The werewolf packs?" She takes a deep breath, and Hermione can practically see the steam coming out of her nostrils.

" _The FUCKING werewolf packs_!" Dorea screams, digging the tip of her wand in deeper, and Dumbledore grimaces uncomfortably.

The commotion has of course, drawn the attention of the others, and at that moment everyone else in the house is standing at one entrance to the foyer or another. Emmeline, Harry and Ron from the kitchen, Sirius and Lily from the Sun Room, and Charlus, James and Remus are standing at the top of the stairs.

"Mum," Remus says then, it's soft, but it seems to cut through some of the heat radiating off of Dorea. "I can handle this."

Dorea glances over her shoulder for a moment, a radiant smile on her face, and honey dripping from her voice, "sweetheart. I know you can, but I've been wanting to do this for a while now. Plus, there's no _fucking_ way I'm going to let him in a room alone with him, where he can try and guilt you into this madness."

"Mum," James tries, but doesn't utter another peep when his Father puts a hand on his shoulder.

"I would be doing Hope and Lyall a disservice if I knowingly let their son enter such a reckless agreement. Most of those werewolves have been ostracized from society-from the wizarding world. They will either detest us, or not be interested in our affairs. The chances are a few will join Voldemort, especially most that were bitten by that mangy creature Greyback.

Those that don't will be scared for their lives, they didn't ask to be treated as lesser because of something they can't control...but you must understand that they will be more wolf than human, they will have long since given into their primal urges." Dorea says as she pushes Dumbledore out the door, walking forward slowly.

"Dorea," Dumbledore warns, and it seems to spark a challenge in Dorea.

"I, Dorea Potter, challenge you, Albus Dumbledore to a Wizard's Duel," Dorea says, as Dumbledore walks backwards down the front steps, and as she descends them gracefully.

"Dorea."

"Would you shut up, Albus and take out your ruddy wand?" Dorea sighs, she pauses as her feet sink into the grass, but she sidesteps to her right, eyes still on Dumbledore.

Albus begrudgingly takes out his wand, "what are we duelling for?"

"If you win, then you are allowed to have ten minutes alone with Remus…" Dorea trails off, cocking her head to the side.

"What happens if you win?"

"Then you will not meddle in any of my family's affairs, unless we come to you for help-it's doubtful, but I think I ought to leave that in there, just to be on the safe side," Dorea says mockingly. "Do you accept?"  
"The wager seems a little unfair," Albus pipes up.

"Fine, you get ten minutes and a cookie on your way out the door," Dorea growls. "Now, do you accept?"

Dumbledore studies Dorea for a few minutes, he waves his wand and the package that he had been holding in his hand floats over to where Hermione is standing-she holds out her palm and catches it. "That is a properly brewed batch of Wolfsbane, I'm giving it to you in good faith," Dumbledore says softly, and Hermione suspiciously sniffs it-it smells as it should.

The others pour out onto the porch, but Hermione remains where she is, and she feels Remus come up behind her, placing his chin on her head and wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

"She's going to win right?" Hermione asks softly.

Remus shifts his head, and places a kiss to the top of her head, and hugs her to his front tighter, "she'll burn down the world for us-you included, she's claimed you, I have faith that she will."

Remus takes a deep breath, and she can hear how fast his heart is beating-he isn't calm, not in the slightest, and then he continues, "she may be the Mother of a bunch of cubs, but I think that everyone forgets that she's a snake."

Hermione looks back out into the yard, at the two wix facing each other off, and she swallows, her mouth feeling dry. A light breeze blows through Dorea's raven hair, and hits Dumbledore, blowing his silvery hair out behind him.

"I accept."


	30. Duel

**HELLO HELLOOO!**

 **So I've finished my exams, and I finally have time to write properly. I really, really hope this chapter is decent, my brain and muse say it is, but of course I still have my reservations.**

 **This chapter was fun to write, and more fun things are coming up soon!**

 **THANK YOU all so much for your reviews, I shall try to respond to them as soon as I can! You are all such darlings and I love you all! ALSO THIS STORY HAS 400 FOLLOWERS NOW?! WHAT?!**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for my darlings Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 _Previously…_

 _Hermione looks back out into the yard, at the two wix facing each other off, and she swallows, her mouth feeling dry. A light breeze blows through Dorea's raven hair, and hits Dumbledore, blowing his silvery hair out behind him._

" _I accept."_

* * *

The wind stills, it is as if nature itself can feel the tension in the air, and is holding its breath in anticipation.

Dumbledore bows first, holding both of his hands out to the side, his knees bending slightly and his feet in a T position-with the heel of his right foot perpendicular to the arch in his left foot.

Dorea purses her lips, blinks blankly, and after a thick, terse moment, she bows in return. She shoots him a mocking smile, before brandishing her wand in front of her with a flourish and flick of her wrist.

It's slow as the lion and the snake begin their dance, a give and take as they carefully scrutinise their opponent.

She steps forward, he steps back, he steps to the left, she steps to the right.

The wix observing from the sidelines can't do much else but watch, holding their breath, their bodies tense and their brow furrowed.

Finally, the snake calmly said, " _Avis_ ," and Dumbledore's lip curl in amusement until he saw what _kind_ of birds burst forth from Dorea's wand.

A flock of falcons, with their feathers ruffled, and their sharp eyes lock onto Dumbledore.

" _Oppugno_ ," Dorea murmurs flicking her wand towards Dumbledore, and the wizard is not be to be undone, because large, thick roots sprang forth from the earth, writhing in the air for a moment before they all turned towards Dorea and sped through the air.

Amongst the spectators, three of them have a bout of nostalgia roll in their guts as they recall that spell being used what feels to be a lifetime ago. They also all grip each other tighter as they watch the battle being waged in front of them.

" _Incendio!_ " Dorea yells, a burst of fire exploding from her wand and engulfing the roots. "That's my girl," Charlus murmurs, happily accepting the cup of tea that Mipsy is offering him, and she pours herself one, merrily drinking as she watches her Mistress with pride.

Dumbledore had managed to vanish the falcons whilst she dealt with the roots, but neither of them relaxed.

Dorea straightens up, and grins crookedly, her lips quickly form a string of words, so softly spoken that no one caught it, and water burst forth from her wand, it was wild and feral, like the witch, and as violent as the sea during a turbulent and irate storm.

Dumbledore clenches his jaw, and he throws his arm forward, water bursting out of his own wand, and everyone can only watch in awe.

A raging sea is before them, a wave hurls forward from Dorea's side and Dumbledore has one ready to combat it, and the witch starts to walk forward, throwing a hand outwards, and her water whooshes around and envelops her, leaving a small space around her person, a small air bubble.

She looks upwards, and grins once more, the clouds are getting darker, angrier, and she throws a hand upwards, most of her water flying towards the clouds, zipping and zagging through the air.

The water disappears into the dark clouds, and the thin layer of water keeping Dumbledore's at bay, explodes away from her, sending his flying back at him.

The wizards stumbles a few steps back, and he makes a strangled, frustrated sound as his water falls limply due to his lack of concentration.

"You may be the Great Albus Dumbledore, but you fucked with my children...do you surrender, or are we going to keep this going?" Dorea purrs, fury curdling in her grey stormy eyes, her wand hand extended towards the rumbling clouds, the other is palm up, and loosely open, her arm bent at the elbow and held in front of her slightly.

Dumbledore laughs then, it's a laugh with abandon, and the carefree nature is puzzling to say the least. Dorea of course doesn't approve of his blatant disrespect, and her lip curls with disdain, no more amusement in her face now. She's done playing nice.

"Did you laugh like that when you betrayed Grindelwald?" Dorea pauses after her curt question, and the amusement is back, splayed across her features as Dumbledore's laugh dies in his throat, and as he turns toward her in blind fury, his wand raised.

"You should not speak of things you know nothing about," Dumbledore warns, his voice a low rumble of thunder, and cold ice stares into the grey storms, and to Dorea's credit she doesn't even bat an eyelash.

"I know you loved him, and I know he trusted you. I also know you used that trust against him, that's how you won. That's how you beat him," Dorea says calmly, appraising him as if he was no more than a pest, an inconvenience. "How you took down the Greatest Dark Wizard of your time."

"Silence!" Dumbledore snarls, throwing pure and undiluted magic in her direction, causing the earth to ripple and crack, it moves like a wave towards her, and Dorea simply shakes her head.

"You really shouldn't let your emotions get to you like that, Albus," Dorea says with a sigh, and she waves her wand around her, and water from the clouds speeds through the air, and smashes into the earth, stopping it in its tracks, and Dorea sees her opening.

She closes her hand sharply into a fist, and her eyes flash as the bright light zooms from the clouds, striking the ground in front of Dumbledore. He almost falls back, taking several steps backwards, and then another bolt strikes behind him, and he tried to throw magic at the cloud, but it only makes the lightning come faster, more furiously, unrelenting in its pursuit.

Dorea smiles, and in that moment, everyone has the same thought, _don't ever piss Dorea Potter Black_ off. The witch had had an affiliation for elemental magic ever since she was little when an accidental burst of magic had created a raincloud to follow her Father, who hadn't wanted to play with her.

Her Mother had found someone to nurture the talent, and whilst Dorea wasn't the most talented when it came to Transfiguration, and plants snapped at her, she was a Master of Elemental magic-a branch of magic that many didn't use anymore.

Dorea's palm flies open, and Charlus whistles lowly, and she shoots him a dazzling smile. "For that darling, you can have anything you want later," Charlus calls out, and Dorea's smile only grows.

"Be careful saying, _anything_ , dear," Dorea says with a light tinkle of a laugh and a brazen wink.

"Godric, are you two flirting right now?" James asks, his jaw dropping, "seriously? Now?"

Dorea smirks at her son, "I think the duel is over, darling."

Dorea turns her attention back to Dumbledore, who is currently flat on his back on the ground, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

She walks over, and stoops down, pausing by his face, "none of it hit you? Shame. Now I'll take your gracious surrender, and I'll even give you a cookie for your trouble," Dorea says with a warm smile, and she notes that the end of his beard is singed, and her smile only glows brighter.

Dorea pats Dumbledore's chest, and gets up, "Mipsy, be a dear and get Dumbledore his cookie please."

"Yes, Mistress!" The House Elf calls, patting down her apron, and handing her cup of tea to Sirius, who offered to relieve her of it. She whispers, "don't think Mipsy doesn't know Sirius is being nice so he gets cookies too." Then she vanishes with a sharp pop.

Dorea turns her eyes back on Dumbledore, "I pity you Albus. You could have done things differently, and we wouldn't be here today, you didn't have to poison my boy to get to him."

"Would you have let me talk to him about the packs in any scenario?" Dumbledore laughs dryly, closing his eyes, not making any moves to get up from his starfish position.

"No, but we could have figured something else out," Dorea murmurs softly. She tucks her wand into the waistband of her shorts, and waves her hands so the clouds clear up, leaving clear blue sky behind. She nods at the older wizard, though he is blind to the sentiment and she begins to walk away.

"He was a monster...I had no other choice," Dumbledore says gently, a caress of sound that carries with the light breeze.

"I know, Albus...I know. After you get your cookie, I expect you to vacate my land, I won't ask twice...oh, and fix my lawn," Dorea says firmly, and there's a hint of sympathy, but she shakes her head and walks back towards the house, gingerly touching her cheek, and frowning when her fingers came across warm, stickiness. Blood. She hadn't escaped all of the debris he had thrown at her, and a few rocks had cut open her skin.

"Do you want me to get the salve? You should have a shower and then I can fix you up," Charlus murmurs to his wife, pulling her into her side, and she sinks into him. He's warm and he's _home_.

"You know exactly what I need, you darling man," Dorea smiles lazily as she tips her face up towards his and he claims her mouth and pulls her flush against him. It's one of those knee weakening kisses that sends tingles down your spine, and she throws her arms around his neck, and the children all grumble and excuse themselves-glancing at Dumbledore once more before going back inside.

Charlus pulls away nice and slow, and her grey eyes have glazed over with lust, "do you want to join me in the shower?"

"Merlin, witch, I love you...and I thought you'd never ask," Charlus smiles easily, and she feels like girl she was when she first met him all over again. The man never ceased to make her melt, and to know exactly what she needed. They _fit_ , and none of her past suitors had even had a chance compared to Charlus Potter.

"I love you, Charlus Potter," Dorea smirks, squealing out happily as Charlus leans down and gathers her in his arms, and she lays her head against his chest as he carries her into the house, kicking the door shut behind him.

In the grass, Dumbledore stares at the sky, and breathes in deeply, trying to soothe his wounded pride. When a pop jolts him out of his self pity, and Mipsy places a chocolate chip cookie on his chest, nodding curtly before popping away again.

Dumbledore can't help the short, bitter laugh that spills from his lips, and he grabs the cookie before sitting up, and he looks at the Manor in all of its grandeur, it's clean lines and homely feel. He spots a window on the second floor open, and he sees something of great interest.

 _Hmm, perhaps not all is lost_ , Dumbledore thinks to himself as he bites into the cookie, the chocolate melting over his tongue. With that seed of hope in the back of his brain, he gets up, dusts himself off, and turns on his heel, a loud crack sounding as he apparates away. Dorea would not be happy about the state he left her lawn in, but he has to leave with at least some of his dignity still intact.


	31. Fuck Off, Moon

**MY DARLINGS!**

 **I mean, you can either take this chapter as a belated Christmas gift, or a HAPPY NEW YEAR gift. Hopefully 2017 will be good to us, really I hope it will be.**

 **Also, I should mention that this chapter is a bit...smutty ;) that is all I shall say and that is all that needs to be said I think :P I'm never sure if my smut is any good, but I do try, so I mean, there's that.**

 **THANK YOU for all your lovelies reviews, and just, omg, you lot make me so happy. Really you do.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Lais and Sable xxx you darling darlings.**

* * *

" _Remus_ ," Hermione breathes, her chest rising and falling, and her arms travel up across his back, one stopping to hold onto his neck, the other burying itself in his hair. Remus is sucking at the side of her neck, and when he nips at her tender skin, and she gasps his name. She feels his lips stretch into a smile, and she arches her back into his touch as he grips her hips harder.

"Remus," Hermione pants, tugging gently at his hair, just enough so that his face is right in front of hers, his eyes molten amber with dazzling flecks of gold.

"Hermione," Remus whispers, his hot breath washing over her, and her skin feels like it's heating up, everywhere he touches bursts into flame and there's a roaring fire in her chest.

She wraps her bare legs around waist, and she smirks when the bulge in his pants presses against her barely clothed centre.

They had had heated snogging sessions before, but today they'd quickly divested each other of their clothes, and now they were down to their underwear.

Remus angles his head and his lips claim hers, and it feels sparks are sizzling between their lips. It all feels so rushed, yet terribly relaxed all at the same time.

Remus pulls away slightly, and Hermione sees it in his face-even of their proximity causes his features to blur in the darkness-he's in pain.

"Remus?" Hermione asks gently, her hands sliding to grasp his face, and she watches as his eyes squeeze shut and he lets out a frustrated sigh through his teeth. "Is it a headache?"

Remus's eyes snap open, and the grimace his face contorts into answers her question, even if not a sound passes through his lips.

"C'mon, we should sleep...it is really late after all," Hermione murmurs, rubbing her thumbs across his cheeks-loving the feeling of the slight scruff that is present from a few days without shaving.

"How about this, I go get you some water?" Hermione asks, and Remus groans before putting his full weight on her, shifting so his head is laid across one of her breasts. She has to inhale deeply to get back most of the air that just fled her body.

"Stupid fucking Full Moon and its stupid fuckiny symptoms," Remus swears softly, and Hermione giggles, running her hands through his hair.

"I'm going to go get you some water, okay?" Hermione asks, but from her tone, Remus can tell it's not up for discussion.

Hermione taps his sides quickly a few times, and he groans before rolling off of her.

Remus watches-lying on his back-as she scoots off of the bed and bends down to scoop his shirt up off the floor where he had carelessly thrown it earlier.

Hermione slips on his shirt whilst making her way to the door, and as soon as she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her he lets out a loud groan.

"Fuck everything. Bloody fucking shit. Fucking fuckity fuck. Bloke can't have one thing. No, course not," Remus swivels his head towards his window and stares at the almost full moon and narrows his eyes.

"Just want to maybe have some intimacy with a brilliant witch, but noooo, you have to ruin everything, you shit," Remus points an accusing finger at the moon.

He leans back and grabs one of the pillows and covers his face with it.

It's a couple days after the whole Dumbledore fiasco, which means there are only a handful of days left until the Full Moon. The batch of Wolfsbane that Hermione had personally gone into Diagon Alley to get over a week ago has been a soothing balm to what had recently become severe symptoms.

Hermione's mere presence soothes his symptoms these days, even catching a whiff of her scent has a scarily potent effect that is almost instantaneous.

Remus has some suspicions why, but he doesn't want to dwell on those kinds of ideas too much. It starts to feel a little overwhelming when he does.

The sound of the knob twisting causes him to remove the pillow from his face, and to wince as another wave of pain rolls violently across the front of his skull. He smothers the pain as best as he can, and slowly sits up-trying to be careful not to make any sudden movements, cause he knows it'll only make him nauseous.

Hermione comes round to the side of the bed he's on, and sits on the edge, holding out a tall glass of cold water, and he wants to kiss her gently smiling face, so he does. She raises her eyebrows in surprise before responding in kind, but she pulls away before either can deepen it.

Her eyes flick down to the glass of water, and Remus growls lowly in the back of his throat before he accepts the glass and says, "thank you. I'm still pissed off at the moon, not you, that's why I growled I mean. I didn't intend for that to happen, but it did, so I'm sorry."

"It's no problem, love, really. I get it," Hermione responds, and Remus finds he notices something different about her every time he looks at her, like how there's a tiny dimple on her right cheek when she smiles, or how her hair seems to shine in the moonlight.

Hermione moves back onto the bed whilst Remus downs the glass of water, and he carefully places it on the bedside table before looking at Hermione properly. She's staring at him under hooded eyes and he finds himself playing with his lip ring with the tip of his tongue.

She's biting her lip, and any pain he felt previously has now fled his body. He feels fully invigorated, and he throws the pillow thoughtlessly to the side, and he crawls over to her, until his body is hovering over hers. Hermione smiles lazily, and even though everything in him _needs_ and _wants_ , and _Moony_ is fully awake, Remus pauses and reins in his urge to simply take.

"I don't…" Hermione trails off, and pushes herself up off of the bed slightly, leaning back on her forearms and he moves backward to accommodate her shifting.

"Want to have sex yet?" Remus asks boldly, and from the pretty pink blush that blossoms across her cheeks, his guess is right.

"Yes...but we can do other things," Hermione says slowly, and Moony surges back to the surface. _Take. Take! TAKE!_

Remus takes a deep breath and ignores the other part of him, pushing him out of the way and ignoring him. That's not what tonight is about.

Remus is about to respond, when Hermione falls back onto the bed, and one of her hands rises to dance across his skin, sliding and sliding until her fingers are playfully toying with the waistband of his boxers.

Remus's eyes widen and he sucks in a sharp breath when Hermione brazenly starts stroking all his length through the thin fabric.

" _Fuck_. Witch, you will be the end of me," Remus hisses lowly, and Hermione's only response is to grin brightly at him. _Okay, two could play at this game,_ Remus leans down and captures her mouth as his hand moves towards the white lace that covers her cunt, and he swallows the gasp that leaves her as his fingers slide across her velvet wetness. Merlin she feels amazing.

It's labouriously slow, the way they explore each other's bodies, and Remus finds himself nipping and sucking at the crest of Hermione's breast, and he knows that there'll be a mark there in the morning.

Hermione surprises him when she lets out a loud moan as he sinks the digits of his middle finger into her-tantalizingly slow-and before he can register what's happening she pushes him onto his back.

Remus can only grin wildly, and he sits up and pulls him to her, and Hermione grins before wiggling out of his grasp, turning around, and she sits back on her haunches as she moves her hair to the side and scoots back towards him-moving her hair over her shoulder to her front and glancing back at him with a light blush.

Remus didn't need it spelled out for him, he sits up and it only takes him a moment to unclip the back of her bra before throwing it aside. Remus toys with his lip ring as he pulls her back into him, so she's firmly seated between his legs, and his hands ghost along the sides of her breasts before he begins to play with her taut nipples.

Hermione shudders against him, and her head falls back onto his shoulder, " _Remus_ ," Hermione moans and he about loses all control right there.

Her hand moves to grasp the side of his face, and her nails graze his scruff when his mouth finds her earlobes and nibbles on it lightly.

An errant thought passes through his mind about his best mates and their uncanny ability to have the worst timing ever, but then he recalls that Hermione probably threw up locking charms on her way back in. Did she put up silencing charms though? Remus smirks to himself and finds he doesn't care.

Hermione turns her head enough for her lips to meet his, and his hands glide down her front, and slip inside her panties again, and he can't help the smug smirk when she starts grinding on his hand.

"Hermione," Remus whispers against her lips, and her response is nip at his bottom lip, and for her tongue to play with his lip ring, and he decides right then and there that he can't hold out any longer.

Remus breaks the kiss, and slides back enough for him to lie down, and Hermione quickly slips off her panties, and his breath is simply stolen away. It strikes him in that moment that she is his, with her wild curls and shy smiles, all his. The caramel on her skin is surrounding him now, it's everywhere and he can't think coherently.

He revels in the light squeak she makes when he grips her thighs and pulls up along the length of her body, and he shifts so that her pussy is right there, and he makes sure he has a good hold on her before he tugs her down slightly and then as his tongue darts out of his mouth and starts to lap at her cunt.

The light moans are only incentive to seek out her clit, and when his lips close around it and start to suck, she falls forward, and manages to catch herself just in time. Remus is wholly unprepared for what she does next.

Hermione starts to tug at his boxers, but then makes a frustrated noise when they don't come off like she wants, and he lifts his arse enough for her to tug them down-not pausing for a minute in his ministrations-and she deftly pulls them down, and he pauses long enough to kick them off using only in his legs.

He about dies when Hermione's lovely lips wrap around the tip of his cock, and it's just as his tongue moves to enter her delicious cunt, and the sound of her gasping as she starts to bob her mouth along the length of his cock is surely going to be his undoing.

She leans back, and her mouth makes a light popping sound, and then she's spitting into her hand, and wrapping her hands around his cock before her mouth returns to its prior job.

The feeling of her smooth tongue against his cock as her warm mouth moves up and down, and her hands stroke the length of him, makes his toes curl, and he feels like spots are dancing in front of his eyes.

His fingers dig into her supple thighs as he flattens his tongue and licks _slowly_ in between her lips, and laps at her like a man quenching his thirst. _Godric_ , did she taste good, and _Merlin_ why is the caramel and vanilla getting stronger.

Remus feels like his head is spinning, he's drowning on Hermione, and he has no problem with it, not in the slightest.

His leg muscles clench sporadically, and he resists the urge to buck his hips upwards, but he is coming undone as Hermione dutifully unravels him. He can feel it building and building.

Remus slips one hand from Hermione's thigh, and he begins to rub his finger over her swollen clit, and licks faster. Soon Hermione's quivering above him, and he knows he's going to come soon if she keeps doing what she's doing.

It doesn't take long, and one of Hermione's hands tightly grips his thigh, digging her nails in as she tumbles over the edge, and her body falls slack. She doesn't ease up however, and within moments Remus's cum is shooting into her mouth.

He's utterly spent, but he still hears her swallow, and he finds himself in awe of the witch in his embrace.

Hermione's tired limbs somehow work up the energy to carefully roll off of Remus, and her warm brown eyes are practically glowing, and his amber and gold ones are sparkling, and they both begin to laugh kind of breathily.

Hermione shifts into a sitting position, and then she breathes out deeply before she crawls forward, laying beside him, and she throws a leg possessively over him-ending up in between his as he turns to face her.

There are no words that need to be spoken, Hermione leans in and presses a chaste kiss to his lips, and he removes himself from her enough to grab the sheets to pull up and over them, before settling back into their previous position.

Remus falls asleep with Hermione in his arms that night, and everything seems better than okay. The War, the disappearances, all of it seems to melt away in her embrace, and before they know it, they are both fast asleep.

* * *

 **Thursday, April 12th, 1979**

 **Full Moon**

 **Potter Manor**

She stays as long as she can, but then James and Sirius are ushering her away, and Remus clings to the blanket she left that smells like her. _Caramel and vanilla_.

The nausea, the pain, the agony all seems to lessen as he buries his face in it, drinking it in as much as he can. Eventually, as per usual, the pain intensifies to the point where not even _she_ can help, and then he's shifting as he must every month.

He knows his own mind once his body changes, and his friends are there, they always are, the grim and the stag. Remus is however quickly distracted as _Moony_ nudges him towards the woollen blanket lying across the earth, and for once the wolf doesn't urge him to run and frolick, to let the air glide across their coat as they surround themselves with rustling trees and other sounds of nature, to follow all the scents they can.

Remus and _Moony_ both understand what this means, and Remus tiredly tries to push it away, but _Moony_ then decides that they need to curl up next to the blanket; Remus decides not to fight him, he finds that he wants to as well. The wolf and the man are both in agreement for once, and Remus doesn't know if that's a good thing or not as he lies down on the cool earth, his head and paws snuggling into the blanket. He doesn't know what to think.

* * *

 **I welcome all the (possibly excited) screaming at me in any reviews, and any theories ;)**

 **Love,**

 **Indieblue xxx**


	32. That's Not So Bad Then

**Hello my lovelies! I've missed you!**

 **Right, I know it's been way, _way_ too long. I'm really sorry. Real life has been hectic, and school has been madness. Stress and lack of time gave me a really bad case of writer's block, and I wrote and re-wrote one small scene for this chapter about seven times and hated each one. Apparently the muse is making up for lost time and doesn't care that it's almost 2:30 AM.**

 **I have exams in a couple weeks, so I'll be busy for a little while longer, and then hopefully I should have a lot more time to write properly.**

 **Thank you lot for all of your patience, seriously. I love you all. A lot has happened, Fall Through Time got nominated for an award for Best Time Travel Dramione...and won?! Also I just got nominated again for Nott In The Moonlight for Best New Ship for the Marauder Awards that the Shrieking Shack Society is currently holding...which is mental, cause I never expected that to get nominated for anything. Anyways, I'm rambling.**

 **Thank you all for your lovely reviews, gosh they were amazing, thank you so, so much. I've been terrible at responding to reviews lately, but I read them all. Just thank you.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for my loves Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Saturday, April 14th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

 **Remus Lupin's Bedroom**

 _I'm going to tell her,_ Remus thinks to himself. Sitting down on the edge of his bed, delicately clutching a photograph.

Reginald Finch had sent all the photographs he'd taken at the wedding last night and Dorea had been over the moon when she walked into the Drawing Room with them. She told them all that they could keep one single one for them personally, but she wanted a copy and that she was going to put them all up in a lovely album she'd been handmaking with Mipsy's help.

Remus can't stop looking at the photograph, it makes his heart swell every time he looks at it, and a wave of intense emotion that should scare him rises to the surface.

The edges of the picture are soft, and the point of interest is just off centre to the right with the background a blur of happy colours.

It's a photograph of Hermione and himself taken from the side and from slightly behind them—Hermione's face is flushed and her face breaks out into a breathtaking grin. Then picture Remus spins Hermione around and she clings to him, tighter and tighter.

He remembers that moment clearly, how happy he was. How right it felt to hold her in his arms. It was taken right after the first time they kissed.

Remus takes in a deep breath and exhales heavily through his nostrils. _I have to tell her_ , Remus thinks. _It's Hermione...she'll...understand. Or at least she won't run away screaming._

Sighing he carefully places the photograph on his bedside table, he might as well go and find his witch.

* * *

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._ Hermione's left index finger taps away aggressively at the wooden desk she is leaning on.

"I have to tell them," Hermione murmurs.

"Don't you mean that _we_ have to tell them?" Ron asks from beside her, his hands shoved into his pockets, leaning against the desk with one ankle crossed over the other.

" _How_ do we tell them?" Harry juts in, "we haven't told them up until this point...it could be seen as a massive betrayal."

"We never _lied_ to anyone," Ron points out as he pushes up off of the desk, slowly pacing in front of his two best mates.

"A lie by omission is still a _lie_ ," Hermione snorts frustratedly.

"It's not something you bring up in casual conversation, Mione!" Ron exclaims, "oh, we're from the future. We know about a lot of _shite_ that would curl your toes in horror and fright. Oh, those fancy and nasty little buggers called horcruxes, don't know if you've heard bout 'em...but guess what, Voldemort's got seven. Well _six_ for now, Harry was one of them."

"Don't be a prat, Ronald. Of course that's not what I meant," Hermione snarls, stepping forward with the tips of her hair sparking.

"We didn't know what we were dealing with. It's perfectly reasonable that we didn't show our entire hand all in one go," Ron bites back.

Harry stands in between them, watching as their bickering starts to get more heated, and it's after one particularly nasty quip from Hermione that he decides to step in.

With a quick swish of his wand he freezes them both in place, and he promptly ignores the death glare Hermione is giving him.

"It doesn't matter that we kept the horcruxes a secret. Ron is right, we didn't tell them immediately for a good reason. Hermione is _also_ right. We should have told them all by now...well maybe not _everyone_ …but Dorea...Charlus, Lily, James, Remus and Sirius...we need to tell them."

Harry pushes his glasses further back on the bridge of his nose, adjusting the collar of his shirt before looking between the ginger and brunette and giving them both a curt nod. With a flick of his wrist and a muttered incantation they are both free.

Harry tucks his wand into his back pocket and raises his eyebrows.

"So we're in agreement then, we need to tell them?"

As soon as Hermione hears the voice, she curses herself internally for not putting up locking charms when Harry and Ron came in.

"Tell who what?"

Hermione scrunches up her nose and wipes her palms nervously on her thighs, adjusting the waistband of her black culottes before greeting their guest, "Remus."

"Tell who what, Hermione?" Remus repeats, brow furrowing as he crosses his arms over his chest.

She tries to ignore the fact that he looks really fit today in a tight white long sleeved shirt and high waisted jeans.

"All of you...we've been keeping something from you all and it's about time we told you," Hermione says slowly with a nervous timbre to her voice.

Remus lets out a short kind of anxious bark of a laugh, "that sounds extremely cryptic."

"I think we should gather everyone in the Drawing Room...it'd be best if we told everyone all at the same time," Hermione responds, tucking a loose curl behind her ear as she cautiously strides towards her boyfriend. This was _not_ how she pictured this happening.

There had been countless scenarios in which she and her boys would tell everyone about the horcruxes and how Voldemort couldn't be killed that easily, not by a long shot. Perhaps there would be some outrage at how they had tarried in relaying the information, or general fear and apprehension of the daunting task ahead. None of them ever started quite like this.

Hermione swallows thickly when she reaches Remus, her hand trembling as she reaches out to touch his cheek, "I wanted to tell you sooner...I...we just couldn't find the right time," Hermione whispers.

"It can't be _that_ bad, Hermione," Remus says as he places his hands on her upper arms sending tingles throughout her body.

"Trust me, Baby. It is _that_ bad."

* * *

An uncomfortable silence settles over the wix, everyone is stunned, gobsmacked, shocked, flabbergasted.

They had all been so confused when they were brought into the Drawing Room, it is a gorgeous sunny day so everyone had been in the Sun Room trying to soak up a bit of the bright sunshine despite the slightly chilly tinge still clinging to the air.

When Hermione, Ron and Harry began to speak all of the confused smiles turned into deep frowns, which then bled into grim faces of disbelief and concern.

"Horcruxes. _Seven_ of them?" Dorea says in a horrified whisper, instinctively moving into Charlus's side and threading her fingers through his.

"Yes…" Hermione murmurs, nodding her head and wrapping her arms around herself in a comforting embrace.

"Fuck," Charlus swears, gathering his wife into his arms and shakes his head in a baffled sort of shock.

The younger wix have all been silent until that moment, which is when Frank breaks the silence, "I'm a little confused, what is a... _horcrux_ , exactly. I get that they make him invincible, but how did he make them? Why seven? How do you destroy them?"

Ron pipes up, rubbing a hand across his head distractedly as he talks, "well we should correct part of what we told you. At this current moment there are five, the sixth was one he 'made', um, _unintentionally_ , and the seventh wasn't until he came back during the second wizarding war."

"How do you make such a despicable thing unintentionally?" Dorea asks out of morbid curiousity.

"When you try to kill the boy who a prophecy says will one day defeat you and his Mother jumps in front of you thus causing an _Avada Kedavra_ to rebound and kill you instead...and then part of your soul latches itself onto the only living thing left. A one year old boy who is then forever scarred with a lightning bolt on his forehead," Harry says in a dead tone, refusing to look at anyone, his head bowed as he stares at his feet with great interest.

"W-What?" Lily stumbles to say, taking an instinctual step towards the raven haired boy.

"Well, he picked me, because as some of you know someone overheard the prophecy being told, and he wanted to nip the problem—me—in the bud. It could have been me or Neville Longbottom and he picked me."

Frank and Alice look as if they wish to ask something, but instead Frank gathers Alice close to him and kisses the top of her head. Both clearly in silent agreement that they didn't want to ask any questions that they probably wouldn't like the answer to. It seems like they both need a moment to let the information sink in before they inquire about their son in another dimension and their fates.

"Your Mother jumped in front of a killing curse?" Charlus asks softly, and Harry can only nod dumbly in response.

"My Dad...he was wandless and he tried to stop Voldemort. He was practically defenseless and he tried to buy time so my Mum and I could escape," Harry adds gently, clearing his throat and still avoiding eye contact with anyone else in the room.

"Merlin's beard," Dorea mumbles, gripping Charlus tightly as her knees wobble slightly.

"You never told us how old...how old we, well _they_ were when they died," Lily says in a strangely calm tone, and Harry finally looks up. One pair of bright green eyes boring into another.

"Twenty-one," Harry deadpans, blinking rapidly and balling his hands up into fists, his knuckles turning a starch white almost instantly.

"Fuck," Sirius says. The first time he's said anything since they entered the room.

After a lengthy and tense pause, Ron speaks up once more, "we aren't one hundred percent sure exactly how you make a horcrux. All we know is _what_ they are, where they were _when_ we destroyed them and _how_ to destroy them."

"Thank Circe for that," Dorea says.

"We aren't sure if they are in the same places in this dimension. All we can do is hope they are," Hermione says in a confident tone, thankfully no one seems too upset that they hadn't told them sooner. Although Remus hasn't really looked at Hermione during all of this.

"How do you destroy them?" Emmeline and Alice ask simultaneously.

"Fiendfyre, Basilisk venom, and we used the Sword of Godric Gryffindor that had been coated in Basilisk venom after Harry killed the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets in our second year," Ron supplies quickly.

"Sorry?" Remus asks, scratching behind his ear.

"Harry killed-"

"A Basilisk in the _Chamber of Secrets_?" Sirius exclaims loudly, "fuck that is mental. Bloody _awesome_ but still fucking mental. Like Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets? _The_ Chamber of Secrets?" Sirius did a tiny hop of excitement, seeming to forget all about the severity of the situation that they were in. "I told you, Prongs. I _told_ you it existed...though I suppose that it's a good thing we never found it if there's a real life Basilisk down there."

"Sirius Black, you are ridiculous I swear," Lily groans in exasperation.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I just want to add that this isn't all bad then," Charlus says, straightening up and Hermione can see a sparkle of hope and mirth back in his hazel orbs.

"Why? You want to slay a Basilisk?" Sirius asks with a little too much enthusiasm.

"No," Charlus replies with a smirk, shrugging casually.

Dorea lets out a tiny giggle, and then nudges her husband gently, and he walks over to the armchair a few feet away from them and takes a seat, dragging his wife with him; Dorea sits sideways on his lap and pats his cheek affectionately.

Everyone frowns, clearly not following.

"Cause I can control and use fiendfyre," Charlus smiles, "and I can teach you."


	33. Dark Reunions

**Hello again!**

 **Two updates in as many days, look at me ;P**

 **I knew that I wanted to have this chapter for a while, but I wanted to do it at the right time, and after the last chapter I thought that now was that time. It's not a particularly nice chapter, but it's a chapter that needed to happen. I really hope you all like it!**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for my loves Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Tuesday, April 17th, 1979**

 **Somewhere in the North Sea**

 **Azkaban**

Misery and pain seeps from the very core of the island, darkness and terror ooze from the walls that surround the three young men as they cautiously follow the figure cloaked in shadows down a narrow corridor.

Just being here seems to forcefully drag the joy and happiness out of everything, as if everything good has been violently sucked away to a distant land beyond their reach.

It's dim and slightly damp, the smell of robust salt air clings to everything and invades their nostrils as the tumultuous winds howl outside.

"Maybe we shouldn't have done this," the lead wizard says, his brow knitting together as he runs a hand through his unruly raven locks.

"We agreed. We _need_ answers, and this is the only way," the middle one hisses lowly, keeping an eye on the Dementor that is gliding along in front of them—his wand at the ready in case he needs to cast a Patronus charm.

"Doesn't change the fact that this place is fucking grim," the final one whispers, a kind of haunted tone to his voice, as if now realising that in a different life it could be him locked up in one of these cells. That in another life it was him slowly wasting away into a shell of his former self for twelve years.

Every now and then there is a low groan of tortured agony that reaches their ears, they can never tell where it's coming from since it appears to come from every direction. They aren't certain if it's the prison or its prisoners or both that are making the noise.

The Dementor suddenly stops, and a skeletal hand emerges from its robes and points to a small cell on its right.

The three young wizards hesitantly approach the cell, and the Dementor makes a strange sucking noise before drifting a little ways away.

Remus clears his throat as he squints into the cell, trying to see what's inside. A low gasp of shock tumbles from his lips.

He shouldn't be too surprised, he's heard stories, he's been told all of the tales and rumours of what Azkaban does to you. He feels utterly drained and he hasn't been here an hour much less a few days or a few months, or even years.

Yet seeing his former best mate, curled into himself with his hands over his ears and his entire body trembling is still a terrible shock to his system.

 _Oh, Pete_. Part of Remus can't help but ache with sympathy, and he finds himself instinctively taking a step forward, his hands wrapping around the bone chillingly cold metal bars that are rough and slightly rusty from years of salt air attacking them.

Without a doubt though, Remus knows that there are numerous wards cast on the cells, and that the cell bars would not give even if you slammed yourself against them for months on end.

An errant thought passes through his mind about how Moody had made an Unbreakable Vow with Peter so that he could never tell You-Know-Who or any Death Eaters anything further about the Order or about what he had witnessed that day with the time travellers. The Auror had mentioned in it passing at their last Order meeting.

"Wormtail," James says from beside Remus, and from the smell of cinnamon, leather and fresh morning dew that cuts through the damp and despair on his left, he knows that Sirius has taken his place on Remus's other side.

The whimpering stops for a brief moment before lowly comes a soft chant, "you aren't real. You aren't _real._ I know you aren't real. Stop. Stop. Stop. Go away, you're always here taunting me Prongs...but you aren't really here. I know you aren't...SO GO AWAY!"

Peter flies up with the last proclamation, teeth bared and eyes wild as he flings himself at the bars. He stops right before them however, chest rising and falling quickly as his brown eyes dart back and forth. An almost crazed look to them.

He'd lost so much weight, the rags that they had shoved him in hung loosely off of his frame and it had only been a couple months.

 _Guilt eats away at your soul_ , Remus thinks sadly, and winces when Peter smacks the side of his head suddenly.

Then with a sort of sober meekness Peter asks, "are...are you real?"

"Yes, Wormtail. We're real," Remus responds.

Peter grimaces. "Why are you here then? To GLOAT?"

They all flinch involuntarily, but stand firm. The broken man in front of them is no longer the kind and gentle friend they knew. Remus wonders if he'd been going down this path longer than they'd realised or if Azkaban had truly lowered him this far in such a short space of time.

"Always the best, always the brightest. The most gifted. Always pitying me, always—" Peter pauses as a glint on James's hand catches his eye. "Oh, you got married then? Of course you got married. Of course. The Great and Mighty James Potter got the girl. He was AN ARROGANT PRICK, but he got the girl and Peter Pettigrew his pathetic friend is now living in filth."

"You did this to yourself, Peter. You _betrayed—_ "

"Sod off, Black. You never cared about me, not really," Peter spits harshly, rubbing his hands through his hair in a frustrated fit of madness.

"That's not true," James says with a cold sort of anger, but it quickly fades as he recognizes that there is no reasoning with the man before them. With a deep breath though, he stands utterly still as Peter continues to verbally assault them.

"I was the slow friend, I was the one that no one wanted to date. I WAS THE ONE WHOSE FATHER MURDERED HIS MOTHER IN FRONT OF HIM AND PRETEND IT WAS ALL ALRIGHT."

"Peter," Remus starts, he didn't know that. Peter told them that his Mother was sick and that she passed away during the summer before their Sixth Year.

"Hush it _mutt_ ," Peter snarls, and Remus flinches at the insult, never thinking that Peter would ever be the one to hurl nasty names about his condition at him.

The feral look returns to Peter's eye as his nose twitches violently. "None of you noticed that anything was _wrong_. Everything was all _wrong._ Sirius had Mummy issues, and you all cared about that. Never about me. NEVER about me. You were always making stupid jokes, and _you_ —" Peter points suddenly at Sirius, "—almost got Snape killed because you are a stupid fucking wanker."

Sirius's face pales instantly at that comment, as white as a ghost.

"You were doing _stupid_ , frivolous things and you didn't see that I was _dying_ inside. So that's why I did it. If you want to know so badly. Cause you never saw it coming. You never even thought it was _possible_ ," Peter laughs quick and harsh.

There's a tense pause, and the howling wind fills Remus's ears as he swallows, and tries to dislodge the words that have comfortably lodged themselves in his throat.

"We never expected it...because you were our brother," Remus says with a sad smile, releasing the metal bars and ignoring the fact that small rust flakes are now covering his palms.

He doesn't question why he can touch the bars but Peter seems almost afraid to get too close to them. He doesn't care anymore. The despair and darkness are pushing down on him, further and further. It feels as though he is being squished onto the floor, and the edges of his vision are getting darker and darker.

"Let's go," Remus says, turning on his heel and walking away, leaving James and Sirius to stand in front of their former Marauder. Both of them hesitate, taking in Peter one last time, since this is probably the last time they'll ever see him again.

"Goodbye, Peter. You weren't nothing. You were _family_ , and I'm sorry you didn't feel that way, but you were our best mate, _your_ name was on the Map with ours, you were with us during every full moon with Remus. You were our _brother._ " James says coldly, but a single tear rolls down his cheek as he follows after his werewolf friend.

Sirius remains silent, grey storms being pierced by brown eyes filled with hatred, and he wonders to himself how they got here? What they could have done differently? With a thick swallow, he too leaves, and the sound of flesh sizzling reaches their ears as Peter Pettigrew throws himself forward and grasps at the cell bars.

"You're all going to _die. DO YOU HEAR ME? DIE. SLOWLY AND PAINFULLY, AND I WILL DANCE ON YOUR GRAVES._ _ **HE'S**_ _GOING TO KILL YOU. THE DARK LORD IS GOING TO KILL YOU ALL!_ "

The three remaining Marauders swiftly exit with a maniacal laugh chasing their coat tails. A heaviness in their hearts as they all realise that they have wholly and completely lost the kind boy with a gentle way about him that they once knew. What hurt the most however, was realising that they had lost him a long, long time ago.


	34. I Know

**Hello hello!**

 **My exams are officially done, so I should have more time to write now ;) I may or may not have written this entire chapter today, and it may or may not have gotten away from me a bit. It's much longer than I suspected it was going to be. Either way, I really, really do hope you all enjoy this chapter! Happy May! The best month ;D**

 **I really do hope you enjoy this chapter, one thing I've wanted to happen for quite a while happens, but I had to wait for the right moment. I think this is that moment!**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for my dears Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Tuesday, April 17th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

He can still feel the chill and sadness from Azkaban clinging to him, and he must reek of despair, because the moment he enters the house Hermione sweeps him upstairs to her room.

The last fingers of sunlight are reaching towards the sky, bright and vibrant against the dark sky that is creeping in. Hermione lights the candles on her bedside table as soon as they set foot inside the room.

Remus has the good decency to kick off his shoes beside the door—which clicks shut softly as Hermione closes it. Before he can utter a peep, Hermione tugs him towards her bed, and she lets go of him as they reach the foot of it.

Hermione scrunches up her nose in the most adorable way before she crawls onto the bed, stopping by the pillows at the top; the bed squeaks as she sits down, legs outstretched before her, and she pats the bed beside her. No words, no fuss. Just imploring eyes and a tiny smile.

Remus sighs heavily through his nostrils, everything is still heavy and the sound of sizzling flesh echoes in his ears, as do the maniacal screams and claims. There's a disconnect from reality, and it is as if he is watching himself move from outside his body as Remus climbs up onto the bed. Once he reaches Hermione he doesn't hesitate to lie down sideways—his head in Hermione's lap—and shift until he is comfortable.

He almost moans when her fingers caress his scalp and stroke through his hair. There are invisible lines floating and extending from all his appendages, and they are tugging him back into his body, grounding him and it's all slowly melting away. Or at least it gets better with every stroke of Hermione's hand.

"Do you need me to do anything?" Hermione whispers gently, closing some of the distance between them, one of her curls escaping and tickling his forehead before she tucks it behind her ear instinctively; her hand pauses.

"I...I don't want to talk about it, but it's all bubbling up anyways, it's growing and getting bigger and it's going to suffocate me. It's...it's going to _strangle_ me," Remus says softly.

"I can just listen if you want. You don't have to talk about it, but if you want to then I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere," Hermione replies, kissing his temple lightly before straightening up, her fingers resuming their previous movement.

"I thought. I don't know. There was a part of me that thought that a grave error had been made. That Pete...that _Pettigrew_ didn't betray us—" Remus pauses, gathering his thoughts, he doesn't quite know what how to think or feel about any of this, "the wizard I saw in that cell was so irrevocably damaged and broken. I have to wonder if it was Azkaban or if it was _our_ fault—"

"Of course it isn't your fault. Not yours, not James's, not Sirius's," Hermione interjects.

"We should have known that something was wrong, Hermione," Remus murmurs. "Maybe, maybe we could have changed things."

Hermione doesn't say anything, and Remus twists his head to glance quickly at her—she is staring attentively at him—with a thick swallow, he settles back into his prior position.

"I don't know what to do. I imagined how it would go, rolled it around in my mind countless times...but then he, he was _so_ different," Remus says as the image of the fragmented version of the man he once knew warms in his mind.

Remus sits up abruptly, turning to face Hermione, "I thought I would get answers, but I didn't like the answers that I got, and I left with more unanswered questions."

Hermione scoots forward, "sometimes we don't get the answers that we hoped for, and some questions are perpetually unanswered. It sucks massively, it really does. Trust me, I _detest_ unanswered questions, but sometimes there _aren't_ any answers."

Remus's brow puckers, and something that has been at the back of his mind for days wriggles free from the compartment he shoved it in, and it swims furiously to the surface. "Hermione...this may seem random, and out of the blue, but I have something to tell you." Remus reaches forward and takes her hands in his.

Hermione bites her lip, and her brow puckers. Remus can't help but fiddle with his lip ring using his tongue, and his body moves of its own accord, leaning forward and placing a soft peck on Hermione's lips before he sits back.

"I don't really know how to do this. I don't really know what to say, because I could be wrong, but I could feel it, and I didn't know what it was. I think I know, but I'm not _sure_ I know. You know—"

"Remus," Hermione urges gently, raising an eyebrow in concern.

Remus takes a steadying breath, focusing on his chest expanding and contracting, his shoulders rising and falling, feels how his neck cracks slightly as he lets his head fall back. He takes another slow breath. _One, two, three. You are making this into a much bigger deal than it is, Remus,_ he scolds himself internally.

"Remus?"

Remus lowers his chin, and his hazel eyes meet the warm brown orbs he's grown so fond of—they are currently glittering with concern and curiosity, a most interesting combination.

"I think you're my mate."

Hermione snorts.

"Did you just snort?" Remus asks, his mouth agape and rounding as his eyebrows shoot up.

"No...well, yes, but I thought it was something that I didn't already know," Hermione explains, scooting even closer to him.

"What do you mean? ' _Something that you didn't already know'_. Blimey witch. What does that even _mean_ —"

Hermione swiftly leans forward and silences him with a kiss, when her lips leave his, she moves away just enough to speak, her words brushing against his lips. "I know."

"Or at least I thought that maybe I might be, and I did some reading on it, though there isn't that much material on the subject. I hope that didn't sound dismissive or anything like that. I just thought you were going to tell me something, I don't know, bad?"

Remus leans back just a smidgen so that he can look her in the eye properly, and a large grin grows on his face when he sees how bright red her cheeks are.

"There's the pretty blush I like to see," Remus says lowly, flecks of gold and amber swirl around his hazel orbs.

In one smooth movement, he grips Hermione and flips her onto her back, settling on top of her but not resting his full weight on her, and his smile grows wider when her legs wrap around his waist without a moment's hesitation. Hermione leans up to move her hair—her river of honey brown curls streaming upwards.

Remus props himself up on his forearms that are framing the sides of Hermione's face, avoiding the stray curl here and there that she hadn't managed to move.

"Hermione Granger, I don't hear any aversion to being my mate."

"Of course not, don't be daft. Why wouldn't I love being the mate of the person I lo—" Hermione's eyes widen exponentially, and her cheeks are now beet red as she looks to her right, avoiding eye contact.

"Wait, the person you _what_?" Remus asks, tongue playing with his tongue ring as his head shifts to his right and he looks Hermione in the eye—the gold and hazel in his orbs blazing brighter and brighter by the second.

Hermione glares at him defiantly, and somehow that only makes this that much more _fun_.

All thoughts of Peter Pettigrew have melted away, instead he is drowning on the scent of caramel and vanilla—which keeps getting stronger and stronger by the second.

Hermione rubs her thighs together subtlety and Remus hears her heart rate jump and then speed up. All it takes is a moment.

"I love you, Remus Lupin," Hermione murmurs, the obstinate look now gone, softening into a gentle almost dazed expression.

"I love you too, Hermione Granger," Remus says, leaning down to claim her mouth.

The rest of the night was spent murmuring words of love and comfort until they both slipped into a deep and peaceful slumber in each other's arms. It had been a draining day, a trying and tiring day for all of them.

* * *

The fire crackles. Warmth permeates every corner and crevice in the room. On a couch in from of the fireplace are four figures, on the far left is a woman with fierce grey eyes and long raven locks whose arms are wrapped firmly around the wizard beside her. Unruly raven locks, glasses, hazel eyes, looking so much like his Father but with a touch of his Mother's slender face. Beside him is his wife, her crimson hair, her bright green eyes that are staring listlessly into the flames. Finally the crimson haired witch's Father-In-Law is on her right, hazel eyes sombre as his thumb strokes up and down the bright green eyed witch's arm, her head on his shoulder, snuggled into his side.

Silence.

There are no words that need to be said, they all sit in silence and comfort each other. It is time for reflection and family. There is nothing to be said that is not present and filling the room—the vociferous emotions clambering away, trying to escape and squirm their way out of the room since they currently occupy every available speck of space possible.

No, no words need to be said. The silence says it all.

* * *

The quartet offered to have him join them, but he needed to be alone.

He _needs_ to be alone.

Nothing he does ever seems to do any good.

He sits in the darkness, using his heightened eyesight to gaze mournfully out at the pond.

It's quiet, too quiet.

There's not even a hint of wildlife, which is strange, odd, bizarre. Now that he's noticing the absence of nature's sounds, it's become painfully obvious.

He runs the pad of his thumb across the slightly rough surface of the pebble in his hands, his mouth twisting to the side as he let his thoughts consume him.

With a loud frustrated noise, he hurls the pebble at the pond.

He thinks he's alone in the orchard, but that is clearly not the case as the ginger haired youth and his raven haired companion appear out of the darkness, and then he's not alone anymore.

They don't say anything, just sit on either side of him, pick up a pebble or two of their own, and start to compete quietly for who can throw theirs the farthest.

The ginger boy succeeds in throwing his farther than the other boys, and he makes a low sound of triumph.

A tiny smile brushes across Sirius Black's lips. He's not alone.


	35. A Meander In The Past

**HELLO!**

 **So I woke up this morning and had the idea for this chapter. It's a bit of a mini interlude whilst also adding some details into the story that I really wanted to put in. I should mention that Dorea was born in 1920, and Charlus was born in 1919 ( at least that's when I decided I wanted him to be born).**

 **Also, there are now 500 followers on this story?! Like WHAT?! That is bloody brilliant! Thank you all so much!**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

* * *

 **Thursday, February 4th, 1915**

 **Potter Manor**

"Really dear, I know you wish to help the muggles, but going to the other members of the Wizengamot will do nothing," a gentle voice scolds lovingly from around the bend.

A tall man with quite an imposing yet kind aura follows the voice, his hazel eyes sparking with defiance. Irritably he rubs the side of his long, hooked nose, and clenches his sharp jaw once he reaches his wife.

"We have to help them, the German muggles declared a _war zone_ around Great Britain. They have created a blockade with those metal contraptions they use in the sea. Someone said that they can stay under water.

This affects us all. If they blow up the island then it won't _bloody_ matter if magic is exposed or not, since we'll all be _gone._ "

"Henry."

"I don't care. I can't sit idly by and twiddle my thumbs. I _have_ to do something."

* * *

 **Monday, April 18th, 1927**

 **Potter Manor**

"Charlus! Don't track mud into the house!" Guinevere Potter yells, shaking her head fondly from her seat at the kitchen table—one of the house elves disappears after the young and rambunctious boy.

Henry is standing in the doorway, leaning against one of the door jambs, a deep frown marring his features.

Guinevere sighs through her nostrils, lacing her fingers together before resting them in her lap. "Why do you think he did it?"

"Cause he's a sodding prick," Henry hisses.

Guinevere purses her lips and shoots a disapproving look at her husband, "no. That's not the reason. I'm pretty sure you know the reason."

"I don't know why Nott does what he does. Most likely he did it as a result of my views during the war. He tried to spread rumours that we have had muggles relations and that's why I was so adamant that we help the muggles."

"Cantankerus can't possibly think that we are related to muggles," Guinevere frowns, tapping the heel of her thick soled shoe against the ground.

Henry snorts, "of course he doesn't. I told you, he's a sodding prick."

"Harry Potter, you need to behave. What does it matter anyways, it's just a stupid list with a fancy name."

"It's a stupid list that holds weight my dear. I'm more worried for Charlus's future than ours," Henry sighs.

"Oi! Harry! Are you home?" The voice comes from a little ways away, and a peal of giggles soon follows.

"It seems Shacklebolt has decided to pay us a visit," Henry smiles gently, scratching behind his ear before pushing up off of the door jamb and seeking the joyous sounds.

"Harry!" The tall, sinewy man greets with a deep and jolly voice. His skin is a rich dark brown, he has broad shoulders, thick thighs and calves. Ruben Shacklebolt is not a man to be trifled with.

Henry greets his old friend with a quick and hearty hug, a smile sparkling in his eyes even though his expression is sombre.

Charlus is right beside the massive man, only making the eight year old look even smaller than he actually is. The hazel eyed boy looks up happily at his Father, his own hazel eyes filled to the brim with mischief and deviant thoughts. Charlus is a thin child, wiry and agile—the boy is always climbing trees and other things that he probably shouldn't.

"Son, why don't you go find Swishy, I'm sure I heard her mention that she has some cake for you," Henry urges his son gently. At the mere mention of cake, Charlus's face lights up radiantly and a split second later he is sprinting out of the room, his footsteps slapping against the hardwoods.

"Even though it was anonymous, we all know who published it," Ruben says gravely, his cheery tone now gone. He spread his feet apart slightly whilst crossing his arms over his chest, his muscles bulging and rippling as he does.

"He's a slimy git is what he is," Henry growls.

"How do you think it'll affect Charlus?" Ruben asks, his thick eyebrows burrowing downwards as his mouth screws to one side in thought.

"It'll be harder for him to find a Pureblood wife. Though with the way some of the Purebloods act with their pompous attitudes then perhaps it be best if he finds a Half-Blood or Muggleborn," Henry says, rubbing his temple.

"Or perhaps you just need to find the right family," Ruben smirks, his jovial tone.

"Ruben. You are one of my oldest and dearest friends, but are you seriously offering to have a marriage alliance with my family?" Henry raises an eyebrow.

"Why not?" Ruben shrugs.

"Because your daughter has been promised to someone else since her birth."

"Details, Harry. Details," Ruben responds cavalierly.

"Exactly. _Details._ "

Ruben scoffs, "fine. Maybe I shouldn't have offered since that means going back on my word...the point is, there will be other families willing to marry into yours. You'll see."

Henry Potter looks around the foyer, at its simple grandeur. His home. His legacy. The place his Grandfather had built.

"I hope you're right," Henry murmurs, gazing out of one of the front windows, hoping that his son did not live out his days alone in this vast home.

* * *

 **Tuesday, May 4th, 1937**

 **Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Rushed kisses, eager hands. Heavy pants.

Strong hands grip the underside of her thighs and lift her into the air, her legs wrapping their way around his waist.

She is pushed up against a wall, causing her to open her mouth in surprise. _His_ mouth is right there, swallowing her moan and caressing hers tenderly, his tongue stroking against hers with intense fervour and she can't help but return every ounce of passion.

"Charlus," she moans his name reverently, her fingers diving into his tresses and tugging softly.

Eventually they break away and there's a sated and cocky grin across the raven haired wizard's face.

Dorea rolls her eyes. _Boys._

"I want to marry you," Charlus murmurs suddenly, and every bit of air in her lungs is suctioned out violently. She can't breathe, and her lips move soundlessly for a few moments in shock.

Then his face falls and she can sense him withdrawing into himself. He thinks he's made a grave error and her silence is a resounding no.

 _Fuck._

Dorea grasps his face firmly, grey eyes digging into his sad hazel ones that are now flickering with hope. With a watery smile Dorea responds, "I want to marry you too."

The giddy expression is back as he surges forward, claiming her lips victoriously.

 _Mother will be furious._

* * *

 **Saturday, July 3rd, 1937**

 **Home of Cygnus Black and Violetta Black née Bulstrode**

" _JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE OF AGE NOW DOES NOT MEAN YOU CAN BLOODY DO AS YOU FEEL. I DON'T EVEN CARE THAT HE'S A SODDING POTTER. WHAT I CARE ABOUT IT IS HOW YOU ARE ENGAGED TO ABRAXAS MALFOY!"_

 _"YOU STILL HAVE ANOTHER YEAR AT HOGWARTS."_

 _"You can't possibly **know** what's best for you."_

It is four days of torment. Four days of chilly snips and snarky comments, and she's convinced that today is the day her Mother has truly and wholly lost it.

Her Mother slams her study door behind her, cutting eyes at Dorea as she brushes past her.

Dorea breathes in deeply, _this has to end._ She's rubbing her temples and trying to come up with a conceivable plan when she hears, "you finally did it. The favourite daughter _finally_ made a massive mess of things."

"Hush, Cassiopeia," Dorea grumbles, turning around to come face to face with her younger sister.

Cassiopeia's raven hair had been lobbed off just below her earlobes in an act of defiance against their Mother when she wasn't allowed to go alone to their Summer home in rural France. Her grey eyes constantly spark with a sense of superiority and boredom.

She was thinner than her older sister, but significantly shorter. Unfortunately a boy in her year once thought it was a good idea to rest his arm on her head and make comments about said height difference. He walked away with an arm broken in five different places.

They all say that the Blacks are either mad, dangerous or a horrifying mix of both (at least they'd been saying so for the last few generations). Cassiopeia teetered extremely close to the mad concoction of dangerous and mad. It's one of the reasons Dorea is so fond of her little sister.

At this current moment however, she is not in the mood for her sister's snide quips.

" _Not_ now, Cassie," Dorea warns, a storm waging in her own grey eyes.

"You do know there's an easy way to solve this," Cassiopeia smirks as she stares at her nails in feigned interest.

That piques Dorea's interest slightly. This may be a situation for Cassiopeia's rash and calculated nature. "What exactly do you suggest I do?" Dorea raises an eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest.

"It's simple really. If you want something, you take it—" Cassiopeia giggles, "—take it from me, I'm getting out of this drab house and going to France by myself for the entire summer. Perhaps I too shall find love…or at least a _lover_."

Dorea rolls her eyes at that last comment. As if there is a man that Cassiopeia will actually find interesting enough to bed. Most people bore the girl to death.

"So what do you suggest I do then? Duel her?" Dorea snorts.

"Darling, that's exactly what I'm suggesting you do."

* * *

 **Wednesday, November 21st, 1928**

 **Potter Manor**

 **Drawing Room**

"Can you not wait until he's a bit older to teach him how to use fiendfyre?" Guinevere scowls, crossing her arms over her chest.

Guinevere is a short but curvy woman, her hair is a dark chestnut brown, and it is currently wound into an elaborate updo, her skin is creamy, her lips are a dusty rose colour, her eyes are bright blue.

Next to her tall and muscular husband she is miniscule, but she has a fire that could knock a man's teeth in.

They are a marriage of equals, something most others in the Wizarding world cannot say, and when Henry "Harry" Potter is doing something foolhardy, Guinevere is sure to call him out on it.

"I was eight when I learned," Henry shrugs.

"Henry!" Guinevere exclaims in frustration, "that is irrelevant. _Our_ son is _nine._ "

"It's a rite of passage. Every Potter learns how to control fiendfyre at some point when they are children. It's tradition."

Guinevere narrows her eyes, "he'll learn the year he goes to Hogwarts. When he has a _wand._ I don't want anyone setting my home ablaze."

"I'll be here to stop any stray flames—" Henry starts, but falters before he utters another syllable. The death glare coming from his wife stops him short. He sighs. This is one argument that simply need not be had.

"Fine. When he turns eleven."

"Good."

Henry turns to leave and hears, " _bloody trying to burn the house down. Potters I swear._ " He smiles fondly and continues on his way. He couldn't have married a better woman.

* * *

 **It's canon that Henry's friends and family often called him Harry, so I really wanted to put that in there cause it made me smile. I may have come up with Harry's Great-Grandmother's name and Ruben Shacklebolt on my own since they didn't have any information on that.**

 **Love you!**

 **Indieblue xxx**


	36. Siblings Quarrel

**Hello hello my lovelies!**

 **I just wanted to thank you all for your lovely reviews, and I'm still blown away with all the love shown for this story, seriously, it makes me so happy.**

 **I played around with Cassiopeia and Pollux's ages in this, since canonically they are older than Dorea, but I wanted to make Dorea the eldest in this story. Also I changed a bit of the last chapter since someone was lovely and reminded me that Dorea duelled her Mother for the right to marry Charlus.**

 **Part of me has a clear idea where I am going with this story, and another part has no idea and is winging it all. This chapter was originally not going to exist, but then I thought of it earlier today and it really just seemed to fit? The next chapter will be quite fun I think, but I thought I would address something a little more serious in this chappie. Hopefully I managed to portray what I wanted *fingers crossed***

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Saturday, April 21st, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

"So sorry I couldn't attend your son's stupid fucking wedding, I was too busy grieving after you _murdered_ my daughter."

"I didn't set out with any ill intent. I didn't wish to hurt Wallie, but I had to protect my family."

"By _killing_ my daughter? Your niece? Your Goddaughter? You were there when she was born, you were there as she grew, you were there for _all of it_. She is... _was_ my DAUGHTER!"

A snort quickly follows, "Oh please, Pollux. Don't get your knickers in a twist. We both know that some part of you was a bit happy that the miserable thing is gone."

"Fuck off Cassiopeia. You vile, vile witch," Pollux snarls nastily, taking a menacing step towards his sister. "You wouldn't understand. You never had any children, much less loved anyone. Why don't you go back to quenching your boredom by fucking any pretty young men that catch your eye."

No one moves.

Dorea takes a deep breath, perhaps this wasn't the wisest course of action. She thought at least bringing them into the Sun Room, with its vast windows that allow sunlight to pour inside and bathe everyone in its warmth, would help to some extent. She takes another deep breath before indulging in a long drag of her Darjeeling tea.

Dorea knows Pollux is hurting and lashing out, but his wrath should be focused on her, not their sister. Pollux may know a lot, but as the youngest there have been several things he is not privy to. A good chunk of Cassie's past is part of that.

Dorea never complains about her sister's many suitors, she knows that Cassie uses them to run away from the love she lost so tragically all those years ago. Pollux does not know that Cassie was going to leave the Wizarding World for him, Pollux does not know that he died in a horrific fire, nor does he know that Cassie lost the baby she was carrying only a month later.

Cassiopeia flies up from her seat beside Dorea on the loveseat, sparks erupting from the tips of her jaw length raven curls; a wave of pure, raw energy is crackling around her, "no, you _fuck_ off. I suggest you refrain from saying anything further that may cause me to decapitate you."

 _This is not going well, not in the slightest,_ Dorea thinks to herself. She wishes that her baby brother wasn't in as much pain as he is, but she can't take back killing Wallie. It is a cold hard fact that she took her niece's life, and she to deal with the repercussions.

She gazes up at her little brother, at the soft edges of his face that had never quite sharpened once he reached manhood, at the dark smudges under his eyes, how the edges of his hairline around his temples seem to have thinned out significantly since she last saw him.

She recalls the light grey eyes that once looked up at her with nothing but love and adoration, but are now swirling with pain, betrayal and a thin stream of hatred. The hatred she can handle, the hurt however, the hurt shreds her insides and leaves her with nothing but guilt and a loathsome feeling she would be glad to be rid of.

"No one is decapitating anyone in my home. Blood is a bitch to wash out," Dorea says softly, rubbing at her temples as she slowly puts her teacup and its saucer down on the short side table beside the loveseat—the china clinking against each other ringing in her ears.

Dorea smooths her palms across her fabric covered thighs—the smooth silk of her black dress like heaven—stopping once she reaches her knees, leaving them to rest across her gentle and supple skin.

"I am sorry about Wallie, Pollux. She...she wasn't well. You know that. You _must_. Years of dabbling with dark magic and tainted artefacts poisoned her mind," Dorea murmurs, avoiding her brother's gaze—instead choosing to stare at the white to pink gradient of her nails as she dug them into her flesh.

Pollux was only sixteen when Walburga was born, it had been a complete shock to everyone. Violetta of course arranged a hasty wedding during their Christmas Holidays that year as soon as she found out, and Walburga was born in Spring.

"I will _never_ forgive you, Dorea. You murdered my only daughter," Pollux says, devoid of any emotion. Dorea flicks her eyes upwards, and is greeted with his cold, hard expression.

"Does it matter at all to you that she tried to sell one of your grandsons to serve that red eyed bastard? Or that she succeeded with the other?"

Pollux clenches his jaw, his Adam's apple jerking about unevenly. There is a pause, a crinkle of fabric as Cassiopeia sits back down, a hard swallow and then Pollus asks, "why are we here _dear_ sister? _Why_? Why you've deigned to talk to us after all this time? For years you've neglected us, and then you murder my daughter." Pollux meets her eye directly, and his voice raises violently, " _what could you POSSIBLY want with us_?"

" _Us_?" Cassiopeia repeats in an affronted tone, one hand flying to her chest, "sister and I owl each often, and I was here for Christmas last year. Speak for yourself." She purses her lips and impassively gazes at her younger brother.

Pollux ignores Cassiopeia, as if not bothering to even acknowledge the fact that she is still here at all.

"I need your help," Dorea says primly. _This was a shite idea_ , Dorea tells herself as she sees the murderous, pained look in Pollux's eyes. She knows that it is killing him even being in the same room as her. She knows that if their places were reversed, she may have strangled him with her bare hands for even attempting to harm a hair upon James's head. She understands his sea of agony, how he is drowning in the depths of despair. It fills her with self loathing even though she knows that if faced with the same situation again, she shouldn't change a thing.

"Is that so? The Great Dorea Potter needs help from us?"

"Yes. I need your help to defeat the so called 'Dark Lord'," Dorea says.

"Why the fuck would I help you with anything after what you've done?" Pollux asks with a dark sneer, narrowing his eyes as he closes the distance between his sisters and himself, now looming over the both of them—he dwarfs both of his sisters with his great stature. Some of his neatly combed back hair falls out of place into his eyes, giving him a feral aura. "Why shouldn't I exact revenge? Which, might I add, I would be well within my right to do so."

 _Pollux has lost his centre, and no parent should have to bury their child...though I didn't even leave him with a body to bury. Which was really quite horrid of me. I wasn't exactly thinking about that at the time,_ Dorea muses as her brother leans forward, his arm moving to grab the lip of the back of the loveseat. Grey eyes cut into grey eyes, she can feel his heavy, hot breath pump from his nostrils in anger as his chest heaves aggressively.

"Because we are family, and as much as you may hate me right now...I _need_ you. I know I cannot ever fix what I did, I know that you will never forgive me, but I want to pave a future for my children, my grandchildren... _your_ grandchildren," Dorea whispers, pouring all of her sorrow and remorse into a single loaded look.

"This is foolish, Dorea. Even for you," Pollux shakes his head as he leans back, partially turning away from her, staring off into the distance.

She had been so preoccupied that she hadn't noticed how the light had been rapidly fading as their conversation progressed, or how the clouds began to clump together and turn an angry, dark colour—appearing as thick and dense as lead. It is only when a gentle _pitter patter_ begins to hit the windows that she realizes that a light drizzle has begun.

"A storm is brewing, Pollux. I know what he is capable of, and I know how to defeat him...the real question is will you join me or not?"

The drizzle quickly thickens into a heavy downpour, seemingly out of nowhere; large pools of water begin to gather in the gardens, and Dorea glances over her shoulder just in time to catch sight of Lily and James chasing each other through the rain. Her darling boy slips and slides straight across a muddy patch of grass and collapses onto the ground, and his wife wastes no time in diving into the muddy grass after him—Lily's fingers covered in mud as she partially lays across him and kisses his lips.

A small smile quirks across Dorea's lips and a warmth blooms in her chest. She stifles a joyous noise—bottling it deep in her gut—as the others run out into the rain and join them.

Sirius is dragging Regulus—who is trying his very best to look as displeased and off put as he can. Remus is carrying Hermione on his shoulders, her hands are reaching up to the heavens and her head is tossed back. Finally, Ron and Harry are smearing heaps of mud across each other with giddy expressions openly displayed across their faces.

Childlike joy pervades all of them, and Dorea can't help but be hopeful that this war won't twist them all into shells of themselves, that when it is all over, they will be able to dance and play in the rain without a care in the world.

Cassiopeia rests her chin on her sister's shoulder before saying, "I will fight with you, sister. Always." Dorea can feel her sister's head pivot in Pollux's direction, ignoring how Cassie's chin is digging into her flesh. She holds her breath as she waits.

"Pollux?" Cassiopeia asks gently, which is nothing like the acid tone she used earlier, it is kind and soft, nothing like Cassie at all. Though Dorea knows that whilst Cassie loves to think herself cruel and uncaring, she has a soft spot for her siblings.

Pollux's gaze is latched onto his grandsons. The temperature in the rooms drops cruelly and a shiver involuntarily taps its way along Dorea's spine. "Fine." He says it so softly, Dorea tells herself that she must have imagined hearing anything at all. That is until he turns to fully face her again, the hatred and pain ever present in his eyes, but there is something else there as well—a tiny glimmer of the love he once felt for her, and just like that a weight is lifted off of her chest. She takes in a large shuddering breath.

"What do you want me to do?"


	37. I Think I'm In Love

**Hello Hello!**

 **Sorry it's been so long, but the muse has simply not been co-operating. I know this chapter isn't very plot heavy or anything like that, but I really wanted to write it. I really do hope you all like it!**

 **THANK you for all your reviews, you are all darlings, really you are. You simply make my day with your lovely comments.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Saturday, April 28th, 1979**

 **Somewhere In Muggle London**

"Mate."

Edward looks up in a half daze—he had been listlessly gazing at a pair of trousers and trying to gauge whether they would look alright on him or not.

When he follows Chester's finger, he spots a mess of honey brown curls cascading down a fit looking girl's back, and he blinks blankly as he sees how nicely her bright red flared pants are gripping her arse.

 _Fuck, that is one_ _**fit**_ _girl,_ Edward's thinks as his mouth hangs open. His friends start shoving him playfully and laughing.

"Mate, I dare you to go and grab her bum," Chester says in a gleeful tone.

"What? Fuck no, not going to fuckin' happen," Edward says, shaking his head adamantly, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, slumping his shoulders as much as he can.

"C'mon Edward, I'll give you a tenner," David says with a bright smile, rubbing a hand through his blond curls.

"No, fucking way," Edward insists, but then one of his mates pushes him forward—hard, and he barely manages to catch himself. He's right by the girls now, and he swallows thickly. _What the fuck do I do now? I'm not actually going to do it am I? Fuck no. David did say he would give me a tenner though._

He's right beside the girl now, and he catches the end of her sentence just as she says something to her companion—who is just out of sight at the moment.

"I think this one is cute," the girl says.

His palms are clammy, his throat tightens almost painfully. This is a terrible idea. He begins to internally hate himself just as his fingers brush against the back of her thigh. Before he can do anything else though, something swiftly moves out of the corner of his eye and tackles him.

He can't breathe, the wind is forcefully knocked out of him as he hits the ground. There are spots dancing in front of his eyes as he blinks up at his attacker in a daze.

Red velvet hair is surrounding him, and _she_ steals away all the air left in his lungs. Plump lips painted a dark, sultry red, almond shaped bright green eyes, freckles, and the tattoo on her neck catches his eye—it is if it is staring deep into his soul, judging him.

She is wearing a sleeveless, loose black cotton button down shirt with the first three buttons undone (he can just see the swell of her breasts and the edge of her dark red brassiere peeking out at him), and her shirt is tucked into a pair of emerald green flared pants.

He tries to breathe in, but quickly realises that the girl's knee is firmly pressed into his chest. He is about to say something when slender fingers forcefully grab his jaw.

His vision blurs until all he sees is crimson, and then a gentle voice is whispering in his ear, "now that wasn't very polite. I suggest you apologise to my darling friend here." Her knee only digs in deeper.

Edward gulps audibly. "Sorry," he manages to rasp, but that isn't good enough because then comes, "I don't think she heard that. Mione, did you hear that?"

"Nope," another voice says wryly.

One of Edward's toes twitches, he can feel the rough wood against the back of his left hand, his right wedged between his body and the floor and it's gone numb.

"Perhaps you could be a bit louder there, mate," the girl says as she leans back, and sunlight stabs at his eyes in between the gaps in her curtain of hair.

"Sorry!" Edward yells out this time.

Moments later the pressure on his chest slowly releases, and she lets go of his face. He desperately gulps in air, spots dancing in front of his eyes.

The edges of his vision are soft, and everything looks kind of muted. He watches the girl stand up and turn to her friend in almost a daze. He registers that his friends are now by him, he can distantly hear their voices buzzing in his ears, but he doesn't hear them, not really.

She glows. Her bright green eyes meet his once more, before she loops her arm through her friends.

"Next time, you lot should learn to have some manners," the brunette says, but he barely hears it.

Edward watches, utterly enthralled as the girl leaves, her crimson hair flying out behind her, and his heart skips a beat.

"I think I'm in love," Edward says.

* * *

"The nerve," Hermione grumbles.

"Hopefully he learns his lessons and doesn't try that again," Lily purses her lips as she squeezes Hermione's arm.

"I was dangerously close to hexing him...thank you for stepping in," Hermione sighs, wrapping an arm around Lily's shoulders and pulling her close.

"Well, that ruined my mood. I don't feel like shopping anymore," Lily says.

"We can stop by a bakery and grab some treats for everyone, then head home," Hermione suggested.

"That sounds delightful," Lily hums. "We'll have to pretend we didn't get anything for James, it's fun to watch him pout."

Hermione tips her head back and lets out a peal of lighthearted laughter.

They are walking down a quaint path now, it is fairly deserted and the only sounds are Hermione's ankle boots and Lily's heels clipping across the cobblestones. _Clip, clop, clip, clop._

The temperature seems to drop drastically, and the wind howls menacingly as it races and twists between the buildings.

"Actually, perhaps we should just go home," Hermione says, stopping abruptly.

Lily's eyes dart around them, she can sense that something is off as well. "Agreed, let's go home."

Lily doesn't hesitate to grasp Hermione firmly, her eyes shut tightly and she takes a deep breath before apparating them back home. The loud crack bouncing back and forth along the buildings.

In an alley not too far away a pair of eyes narrows and a soft _harrumph_ passes through the figure's lips, their black cloak having helped them melt into the shadows. They turn on their heel, and their cloak billows about them, and then they too apparate away.


	38. He's Gone

**Hello hello!**

 **I was going to mention this in the last chapter, but it simply slipped my mind. I messed around with canon a wee bit because I wanted Dorea to be the eldest sibling, which then offset a lot of things. I have a post on my tumblr explaining all the changes if anyone is interested in looking at it. The link is here:** **http*:*/*/*indiebluecrown*.*tumblr*.*com*/*post*/*162137949332*/*black*-*family*-*changes*-*for*-*a*-*dalliance*-*in*-*time (you'll just have to take out the astericks because FFN doesn't like external links, and it should take you there).**

 **Thank you all for your patience with me, I've known what I want to write, but I simply just couldn't find the words for the past month or so. It's been extremely aggravating.**

 **THANK you for all of your reviews, one review that I got this morning almost made me cry, and that's why this chapter is dedicated to lizziecats. YOU ARE AMAZING!**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Thursday, May 3rd, 1979**

 **St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries**

 **London**

The infernal clock keeps _tick, tick,_ ticking away, and time mercilessly marches on, never deterring from its duty.

There are so many _if onlys_ that are floating around in the air, so many _what could have beens_ swelling to the size of melons before they shove their way down his throat.

The antiseptic smell that clings to the building clogs his nostrils, and he'd like to say that is why his eyes are 'watering', but it's not as simple as that.

He's on the verge of tears, but they refuse to fall. He isn't quite sure how to feel about all of this. He wishes that they could have had more time, just a little more, but alas, this is all they are allowed.

Orion had swallowed his pride and sought refuge with Narcissa and Lucius, the only Black's (aside from Andromeda) that could be trusted enough to allow regular visits from his children.

Sirius and Regulus paid him as many visits as they could—Regulus going every day and Sirius visiting whenever he wasn't occupied with Order missions and the suchlike.

Sirius scratches his cheek absently, his eyes listlessly staring down at his Father—who is tucked in tightly under the covers of his starch white sheets, which are pulled up as far up his chest as they can be with his arms out.

His skin is an ashen grey colour, and Sirius can still picture the crimson that had stained his lips not even an hour prior when he'd violently coughed up blood.

His veins weave across his skin in intricate detail, boldly standing at attention with their blues and purples, just below the surface of his paper thin looking skin.

"Dad," Regulus whispers, his voice scratchy and rough with emotion, one of Orion's hands is clasped tightly in between Regulus's. Sirius can't properly see his brother's face from this angle, but he can picture the unshed tears that must be glistening in his grey orbs.

"It's…time, son," Orion chokes out, a fit of coughing spurting out of him.

Regulus is sitting on a short, round, dark brown stool right beside his Father's bed, on the side closest to the charmed window—the 'sunlight' softly illuminating the side of his face. The harsh shadows draped over Sirius's brother seem to emphasise his sorrow.

Sirius himself is just a bit away, leaning against the wall right next to the window, hands shoved in his pockets, hair in his eyes, but unable to tear his gaze away from his frail Father.

The image of him now is such a stark contrast to the man he idolized when he was little, that it just doesn't seem real. His eyes start to burn, but he refuses to blink, trying to take in everything. Not wanting to miss even a millisecond.

"Sirius…Regulus...my beautiful boys. Look after each other. Please. Do that for me," Orion rasps, his breathing shallow and wet sounding.

Sirius pushes off the wall and walks over to the other side of the bed, just close enough to touch his Father but he doesn't reach out. Not yet.

One, two, three shallow breaths pass through Orion's mouth as his chest barely rises and falls. His eyes flutter closed, and he makes a weak attempt to clear his throat before he reopens his eyes. Bloodshot eyes flick back and forth between his children, as if drinking in every detail of their faces.

The ticking of the clock is more evident now, painfully so. Time is fleeting, they have so little of it left, so little. _Tick, tock, tick._

It all slows, the light shines on his Father's eyelashes as he slowly blinks, struggling to keep his eyes open. Despite how much pain he must be in, he looks almost at ease, he looks happy.

Sirius's limbs are like lead, he's so numb, so numb, but he swallows hard and wills his hand to move. He watches as his hand inches forward and grasps onto his Father's.

One hard blink and reality smashes its' way back into the room. Sirius gulps two mouthfuls of air up greedily, finally able to breathe normally. He can taste the tang of pain and sorrow on his tongue, his head pounds as he fights to hold back his tears. Until, he can't anymore.

He crumbles.

He crumbles, falls onto his knees and then holds onto his Father with everything he has. Shaking shoulders, his wet sobs fill the room, and he can't seem to get enough air in his lungs. The salty tears are falling freely now, blurring his vision until it is all just a mess of monochromatic colour.

 _Why did it have to end like this?_ _ **Why**_ _? Why does everyone I love keep dying?_ Sirius weeps internally.

Sirius hears the soft words through the sea of pain he is drowning in, "I love you both. Sirius...I am so proud of you, son. Regulus...Regulus, my boy, live the life _you_ want. Be happy. Be...happy…"

Sirius hiccups, sniffs hard, wipes away his tears with the back of his free hand and looks up at his Father. An almost peaceful smile is spread across his face, eyes closed, the pallor of his skin almost the same as the sheets.

He's gone. _Gone. Gone. GONE._

Sirius can't breathe again, but a shuddering exhale draws his attention. His chest is constricting in on itself, getting tighter and tighter. Sirius's eyes meet those of his brother—who is silently weeping opposite him.

 _Tick, tock, tick._ Time remains true to its steady march. Never relenting, never stopping.

Sirius jerkily nods at his brother, and an understanding passes between the two priorly estranged brothers in the wee hours of the morning.

The shift between them is silent but powerful, toppling over their carefully constructed walls.

It is a moment that they alone share, one permanently etched into their memory.

 _He's gone,_ Sirius thinks, sniffing hard.

"He's gone," Regulus hiccups.

"He's gone," Sirius repeats, wiping away the unrelenting tears.

 _He's gone._


	39. With Summer Comes Change

**HELLO!**

 **Twice in one day, goodness, the muse has come back full swing!**

 **Did I write this whole chapter today...maybe, just...maybe. Anyways, I really hope you like it!**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx (I LOVE YOU BOTH)**

* * *

 **Monday, 21st May, 1979**

 **The Burrow**

 **Ottery St Catchpole, Devon, England**

The potent and rich fragrance of freshly blossomed flowers permeates through the air, packing a powerful punch as it hits the ginger haired boy's nostrils.

He's standing in the backyard underneath one of the lush green trees—revelling in the cool shade, and holding George Weasley to his chest, gently rocking the infant back and forth; the boy's head is curled in the nook of Ronald Weasley's shoulder and neck, his tiny hands making fists as he slumbers.

Ron tries to visit at least once a week and any other time he can—helping Molly deal with her little troublemakers whilst Arthur is at work or out on missions, and simply enjoying spending time with his family.

Hermione and Harry have both come with him at some point, and Charlie has grown extremely fond of the raven haired boy, insisting that Harry run around the backyard pretending to be dragons with him. Percy likes Hermione so much that he sticks to her like glue whenever she comes round, jutting out his bottom lip and begging for her to read him a story.

Bill strangely enough maintains a healthy distance from Ron's best mates, though he'll pester Ron with infinite questions about them when they leave.

Ron smiles as George gurgles in his sleep, a bout of summer breeze blows across the both of them, and he can feel George wiggling his toes against him as he dreams.

He came today because he needs to think, and he finds that spending time with the boy's always helps him clear his mind. It's hard to stress and be bogged down with worry when he looks at all of their bright, smiling faces. They have no idea about the war (Bill has an inkling that something is off, and by extension so does Charlie since they are practically joined at the hip), so naive and blissfully innocent.

Ron hears a loud peal of laughter and turns his head to see Bill bound out of the house, Charlie close on his heels as they pretend to duel with some faux wands. They stop in the middle of the yard, standing several feet apart, both bowing before they start yelling made up spells, shooting harmless multicoloured sparks at each other.

The warm sunlight shines across them, dancing along their freckled faces and playing with their ginger locks—adding an almost golden touch to them.

So innocent and no idea of the danger they all face. Ron swears in that moment that he will do everything in his power to ensure that those joyful looks stay on their faces, and that their innocence will remain intact for as long as it can.

Tomorrow is a big day. It's also a day full of uncertainty.

The Order had received some _very_ promising intel that morning, and if it is to be believed, it could give them that edge they had been searching for; more concrete details on Voldemort's plans and movements.

It is going to be Ron's first official mission for the Order, and he'll be going with Remus, James and one other person—Michael is his name if Ron recalls correctly. He's never met the bloke, but Remus and James vouched for him and said he's a good fighter, focused and reliable. They're going in a smaller group to stay as under the radar as they can.

Ron doesn't know why, but there's a nagging feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach whenever he thinks about the mission; his mind travelling down the worst roads, thinking of all the terrible outcomes that can happen if things go sideways.

 _It probably won't help that I'll be worried about the others since they are doing something equally as mental, perhaps more so,_ Ron thinks with a frown and a heavy sigh through his nostrils.

Another breeze blows, tousling through his growing locks; he keeps meaning to chop off most of it, since it's almost long enough to cover most of his ears and it's beginning to bug him.

George opens and closes his fist against Ron's chest and he glances down at the tiny wizard. Memorising all the little details of his face, endlessly fascinated by how round his face is at this stage, and how he scrunches up his nose when he concentrates—something that travelled with him as he aged.

He looks so peaceful now as he slumbers away, drastically different from the charming prankster he grew into.

"So much can change in a handful of months," Ron murmurs to himself.

As the flower's perfume swirls into his nostrils, and as the summer breeze twirls around him, Ron's eyes drawn to the shadows shifting as the trees branches sway, and he can't help but think about the one person he misses more than anything.

"Ginevra Weasley," Ron whispers, letting the wind carry her name away.

"Pardon?"

The witch's sudden question startles Ron—who had been so consumed by his thoughts that he hadn't even realised she was standing beside him.

Molly tiredly smiles at him as she cocks her head in curiosity, bouncing a now fussing Fred Weasley. Her hair is messily piled on her head and sticking in every which direction it can, and she smells like roast chicken and treacle tart. She is wearing a long-sleeved, thin, navy blue shirt and a pair of light blue jeans with the ankles rolled up several times, and her feet are bare and wriggling around in the grass.

Ron clears his throat, figuring that it can't hurt to tell her about Ginny. He opens his mouth and then pauses. Should he tell her? After a silent internal war that elapses for a few long moments, he shrugs with a loud exhale.

"Ginny. Ginevra Weasley, your seventh child and my little sister," Ron says with a wistful smile. "Fire. That's what she is. A fierce and talented witch that is not to be trifled with...a sharp tongue and a big heart."

Molly frowns.

Ron raises an eyebrow and waits.

"Seven children?"

"Yes."

"Seven?"

"Indeed."

"Fucking hell," Molly whistles.

"I think you wanted a girl," Ron offers.

Molly purses her lips, "perhaps." She closes her eyes and leans her head back, absently rubbing Fred's back as he calms down and stares in fascination at his surroundings.

"I didn't think we could have girls," Molly says.

"What?" Now it's Ron's turn for his brow to knit together.

"I just assumed that we couldn't have girls," Molly repeats. "I dreamed of having a little girl when I was younger, always imagined I would have one...but after the twins...I didn't think it was possible," Molly says with a small inclination of her head.

Ron doesn't know what to say to that. Growing up he always got the impression that his Mother kept having kids because she desperately wanted a daughter, so to hear Molly say that is strange.

"Is something bothering you, Ron?" Molly asks, changing the subject.

Ron inhales deeply, "I have my first official Order mission tomorrow...during my time I was never an official member, but now, funnily enough, I am one of the more seasoned fighters. Yet, I can't help but feel anxious."

"I think...that unfortunately you've gone through more than you ever should have...and you will use that experience to serve you well. I don't really know what else to say," Molly confesses.

Ron is thinking of a response when she adds, "except, please be careful."

Ron smiles wryly, "I will. I promise."

Just as he finishes speaking, George begins to rouse, his hands splaying across Ron's chest.

Ron looks out at the yard once more and sees the boys play wrestling in the grass, Percy having wandered outside not too long ago squatting several feet away and watching them as he absentmindedly pokes at the ground with a thin stick.

 _Hopefully it's just me being paranoid and everything goes smoothly tomorrow,_ Ron thinks.

He tips his face to the sky, watching as the fluffy clouds lazily float across the bright blue sky, and thinks, _a_ _ll I can do is hope._


	40. Down the Pipe We Go!

**HELLO HELLO!**

 **I hope you lovelies are all doing well! THANK you for all your reviews, you lot always make my day!**

 **ALSO, Dalliance has been nominated for best pairing (Remione) in the Marauder Medals 2017. Which is AMAZING! The link (just remove all the asterisks and it should work) to go vote if you want to is here: https*:*/*docs*.*google*.*com*/*forms*/*d*/*e/*1FAIpQLSc-X4hClylcsnMdq63ePSdLasUOB0CpW2XU49AA1o0Ot0OeYg*/*viewform**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Tuesday, 22nd May, 1979**

 **Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

 **Scotland**

" _Be careful,_ " Remus had whispered against the shell of her ear earlier when he pulled her into a tight embrace as they bid each other farewell.

" _You too,_ " She had uttered in response, trying to still her ever racing heart as she thought about what could happen today, all the things that could and if given the chance, _would_ , go wrong.

Their current location does not inspire confidence for their missions' success.

It's rather quiet despite the fact that there are five wix in the Headmaster's office—Dumbledore looks rather smug, not even attempting to hide it.

Their plan is rather well thought out, but there is one hitch. Access. In order to get where they need to go, they need the old man's permission to be on school grounds; they are in his sandbox now and he is enjoying having a monopoly on the real estate.

"Why should I let you roam the grounds without supervision, especially since you refuse to enlighten me on your purpose and what you intend to do," Dumbledore asks, leaning back in his plush chair, slightly sinking into its' comfy embrace, looking like he'd just shat on the desk and expected them to clean it up.

"Because it's for _your greater good_ ," Dorea replies primly; she is the only other person sitting—directly across from Dumbledore, his large desk the only thing separating them—with the rest of her company standing behind her, watching the proceedings with great caution.

Sirius looks antsy, but Hermione knows that's because of what they have planned, or the fact that his two best mates are walking into a possible ambush as they speak and he isn't there with them. Hermione studies his tense posture, the rigid way he's holding himself and concludes that it is probably a healthy heaping of both.

Hermione understands how he's feeling all too well—she's just as on edge. She can only hope that they don't walk straight into a trap, that James, her wizard and her best mate will be okay. She can only hope that no one gets hurt.

Dumbledore had been silent, pondering Dorea's curt statement and then curiously glancing around at the lot of them. He sat forward, fingers lacing together as he rested them on his desk, putting his weight on his forearms. "Elaborate. I'm going to need just a few more details," Dumbledore says calmly.

Dorea raises an eyebrow, "no."

"What would you do if I came to your door, and told you that I need to go snooping around your home for ' _the greater good_ '?" Dumbledore asks, pausing for a brief moment before continuing and answering his own query. "I can almost guarantee that you would tell me to piss off."

"Your point?" Dorea asks with a tight smile, she knows where he's going and she can sense that the old coot won't let them go about their business without _something_.

"That that is exactly what you are requesting of me, my dear," Dumbledore says, leaning back once more, hands now resting in his lap, the twinkle in his eye glinting as he smiles serenely at them all.

Hermione can sense that Dorea is about to jump across the desk and throttle the Headmaster, so she decides that it may be time to end this stalemate.

Hermione takes a step forward and the movement catches Dumbledore's eye, he turns to look at her, head cocked in anticipation.

"We need to borrow Fawkes, and we can't tell you why, but it'll bring us a step closer to defeating Tom Riddle."

* * *

 _Drip, drip, drip._

"We can always turn back," Harry whispers, his voice bouncing off of the tiled walls.

No one says anything, and Hermione inhales deeply, reaching up to gently stroke the smooth feathers of the Phoenix perched on her shoulder. The bird makes a low vibrato like sound in its throat as it rubs its' beak against Hermione's cheek.

Sirius breaks the silence. "We did not just sit in an office with that smug bastard so that can turn back. I say we just do it."

Harry frowns profusely, his mouth opens as if to say something, but it just as quickly closes.

"You didn't show us any memories from your second year...that's when the chamber was reopened wasn't it?" Dorea asks, closing the distance between her and the row of sinks, a slender finger moving to run along the rim of one of the porcelain sinks. She purses her lips as she turns around to look Harry directly in the eye, "why not?"

"It...it was when we weren't sure how much we wanted to reveal. If we showed you that...then you would've asked questions, questions we weren't prepared to answer," Hermione interjects.

"Harry." Dorea says pointedly, hands now on her hips, grey eyes stern and sturdy as steel. She is pressing them for more details.

Harry swallows thickly and shrugs, "it wasn't really relevant...or pleasant. I didn't think I'd ever have to deal with _it_ again."

Neither of them have mentioned that Hermione was petrified by the beast in their second year.

Hermione moves closer to Harry, fingers lacing through his, he angles his head in her direction and shoots her a sad smile.

"This time you won't be doing it alone," Hermione murmurs, tightening her grip on Harry.

Harry merely nods in response.

Sirius is anxiously shifting from foot to foot beside Dorea, chewing anxiously on his bottom lip.

A random thought pops into Hermione's head, _the only one of us that's not out on a perilous expedition today is Lily...though she does have Emmeline to keep her company._

Lily had been exhausted that morning, saying that lethargy was pumping through her body, spreading throughout her body, making all of her limbs feel extremely heavy.

Hermione looks around at her three companions once more, nodding curtly with her mouth contorted into a grimace.

They are all facing the sink directly in front of Moaning Myrtle's toilet stall—however the ghost is strangely silent, not uttering a peep.

Dorea is closest to the sink, leaning in to peer at the tiny snake that is scratched into the side of one of the copper pipes. She frowns as she traces her fingers across the surface. The witch steps back—brow still furrowed—and looks expectantly at Harry.

Hermione looks forward as the hissing sounds start smoothly sliding out of Harry's mouth, it is the only sound in the bathroom—aside from one leaky pipe at the end of the row that's been _drip, drip, drip_ ping since they got here.

The tap glows with a brilliant white light and begins to spin, next thing they know, the sink begins to move; it sinks out of sight and leaves a large pipe exposed—wide enough for a man to slide into.

Through the silence comes a tiny wet sob, which soon gets louder and louder—it's coming from directly behind them. "Stop it...st-stop it. STOP IT."

Hermione flinches harshly, stumbling backwards when Myrtle appears out of nowhere and flies straight towards them, stopping right in front of Harry.

"You've come to kill more _MUDBLOODS_ haven't you?!" Myrtle cries loudly, but then the resentment on her face melts into confusion and she crinkles up her nose.

"I don't recognise you…" Myrtle trails off, clutching herself tightly.

"Hi Myrtle...it's been a while…" Harry smiles sadly.

The anger flares to life on her face, "so it was-"

"No. It wasn't…that, was, um, it was Tom Riddle," Hermione supplies, gently pushing Harry to the side and meeting Myrtle's eye.

Myrtle narrows her eyes into slits, letting out a soft whimper, "that's a shame...he was such a pretty boy that Tom Riddle...fine, it's your funeral...and when you die you can't share my toilet." She harrumphs and sadly floats above them, returning to her stall. Her wails echo and rebound all around them.

Dorea shakes her head before bravely striding forward until she's standing in the opening to the Chamber—perched right on the edge of the abyss, and she inhales deeply. A pregnant pause and then she sits down with her feet dangling in the pipe, she looks back at all of them before pushing herself forward and in the blink of an eye, she's gone; her raven hair flying upwards and it's the last thing Hermione sees before the darkness swallows the Potter Matriarch whole.

Sirius is next up, peeking over his shoulder and giving them a bright and cheeky smile, and in one swift movement he is hanging from the edge of the pipe and then he too disappears into the opaque darkness.

As opposed to Dorea who had been silent as a grave on her way down, Sirius's cheers enthusiastically fly out behind him.

Harry lets go of Hermione's hand and takes a step forward. At that same moment Fawkes lets out a squawk—startling Hermione and she can hear it ringing in her eardrum as the bird takes off of her shoulder and gracefully glides around Harry and straight into the hole.

Harry takes one final look at Hermione over his shoulder, and sends her an anxious smile before disappearing down the pipe like the others.

Hermione breathes in deeply, and walks forward, exhaling once she reaches the pipe.

She lowers herself into the pipe, and begins to panic slightly. _It_ could have killed her, it almost did. If she hadn't walked around with that mirror…

A shiver runs down her spine and she closes her eyes, focusing on breathing in and out deeply. Hermione swallows thickly, her fingers digging into the cold metal of the pipe, and then she simply lets go. She lets go, taking the leap she was incapable of doing all those years ago, _because_ of what awaited them at the bottom, and with that she disappears straight into the belly of the beast.


	41. The Chamber of Secrets

**HELLO!**

 **I should be sleeping but I am way too eager to share this chapter with you lovely lot. Okay, I used some canon lines for a few descriptions of the Chamber and those will all be in italics. (Not everything in italics is canon, a good portion/most of it is my writing, but I just thought I'd let you know.)**

 **I'll leave the link if you want to vote for Dalliance for Best Pairing (Remione) in the Marauder Medals here again. All you have to do is remove the asterisks. (please vote):** **https*:*/*docs*.*google*.*com*/*forms*/*d*/*e/*1FAIpQLSc-X4hClylcsnMdq63ePSdLasUOB0CpW2XU49AA1o0Ot0OeYg*/*viewform**

 **Please, please leave a review ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais x**

* * *

Memories of the first time he took this journey are flying through Harry's mind. _It_ is _like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide. He_ can _see more pipes branching off in all directions, but none as large as theirs, which twisted and turned, sloping steeply downward._

Harry knows that they are going much deeper than even the Dungeons.

He knows what awaits them at the bottom.

All of a sudden the pipe levelled out, and he shot out of it with alarming speed and a wet thud, _landing on the damp floor of a dark stone tunnel large enough to stand in._

The memories are so potent, so vibrant and vivid in his mind's eye, and suddenly he feels so much smaller, like he's twelve all over again and all of the uncertainty that he had back then comes rushing back.

He steps away from the end of the pipe, and finally sees Dorea and Sirius warily looking towards the dark tunnel in front of them.

A squeal and a wet thud later Hermione is sitting on the damp floor with a disgruntled expression on her face. Harry extends his hand and Hermione takes it with a grateful smile, he helps her up and then turns to their companions, "stay behind me."

Fawkes makes an almost purring sound when he lands on Hermione's shoulder, cocking his head curiously at the tunnel before them.

Harry approaches the tunnel, licking his lips nervously. He can do this. He did it once before, he can do it again.

With a deep breath he steps into the darkness.

It just kept going, and Harry remembers how he had _wanted the tunnel to end, yet dreaded what he'd find when it did._

Their footsteps squishing across the wet surface of the tunnel was deafening in the absolute silence. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood up, and fear slithers along his spine.

The tunnel is never ending, one bend here and another bend there, but _then, at last, as he_ creeps _around yet another bend, he_ finally sees it— _a solid wall ahead on which two entwined serpents_ are _carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds._

Harry approaches, his mouth dry as if stuffed full of cotton wads, his tongue thick and heavy in his throat. _There_ is _no need to pretend these stone snakes_ are _real; their eyes_ look _strangely alive._

Harry knows what he has to do, he opens his mouth, smacking his lips together as he works his jaw.

The emerald eyes flicker.

He swallows thickly and then says, " _open_ ," in a low, faint hiss.

"Whoa," Sirius marvels as the _serpents_ part and _the wall_ cracks _open, the halves slid_ e _smoothly out of sight._

Harry takes a deep breath, attempting to soothe his nerves. _I can do this_ , Harry tells himself once more.

He glances over his shoulder at his family—grim faces set with determination stare back at him, Hermione nods once and that's all he needs—and with one more deep breath, he walks inside.

It's exactly how he remembers it.

 _Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved_

 _serpents_ rise _to support a ceiling lost in darkness casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that_ fills _the place._

"Stay here, wait for my signal," Harry says, clenching his wand tighter as he slowly moves forward.

They had briefly discussed a plan earlier—Hermione and Dorea wanted to talk about it more in depth but Harry explained that there isn't any way to plan for dealing with the basilisk—and Harry is meant to try to tame the beast before they do anything.

As Harry draws _level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself_ looms _into view, standing against the back wall._

 _Harry_ still has _to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above: It_ is _ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that_ falls _almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor._

 _Now here comes the hard part_ , Harry thinks.

" _Who's there?_ " The loud hiss echoes throughout the chamber and a scratching noise hits his ears as scales slide across the smooth floor.

"A friend," Harry hisses back.

" _A friend?_ " The basilisk hisses.

Harry looks directly at his feet, tempted to close his eyes entirely. His palms are clammy and his heart is racing.

" _What does this_ _ **friend**_ _want?_ "

"To get some help," Harry responds.

" _Help?_ " The ancient beast asks, and Harry can sense something akin to amusement in the snake's question. " _What, pray tell do you need help with boy?"_

 _I can do this,_ Harry thinks.

He closes his eyes.

"I just need some help defeating someone."

" _Defeating an enemy? Is that so._ "

Harry nods.

The beast is close now, so close that if it pleased it could strike him easily.

Harry's eyes open a crack and he can see the dark shadows from the snake's body moving about against the ground.

" _Why won't you look me in the eye, boy?_ "

"Perhaps because I know I'll die?" Harry hisses back harshly, somehow feeling more confident than he did previously.

" _Smart boy, but you're going to die either way_."

There's a loud hiss, and he can see the shadows shift as the snake lifts off the ground, readying itself to strike.

A caw, bright and clear rings through the Chamber and the basilisk's head swivels toward the source of the sound.

Déjà vu. All over again.

The beast makes the same sounds it did the first time Fawkes attacked it and clawed out its eyes. Distress, rage, agony.

Footsteps loudly slap against the ground as Sirius, Dorea and Hermione run to him, Harry turns around to look at them just as the beast lets out one final hiss of ire and Fawkes swoops towards them, landing on the stone floor in the midst of their group.

" _BOY. YOU THINK YOU CAN GET RID OF ME THAT EASY?"_

" _No,"_ Harry hisses.

"It's a good thing I nicked this from that stupid hat," Dorea says as she withdraws the sword of Gryffindor from her pocket, the ruby glinting in the greenish light.

"W-wh-what? You _can't_ just nick the sword of Gryffindor, you have to worthy and pull it out-" Harry starts, but stops when he sees Dorea's prim smile.

Harry frowns, about to ask _how_ she'd shoved it in her pocket but then he remembered that an undetectable extension charm exists. He'll have to ask her later _when_ she even an opportunity to steal it from the Headmaster's office.

Dorea turns the sword around, grasping the blade and gracefully points the hilt in Hermione's direction.

Hermione's mouth hangs agape as she accepts, "why me?"

"I figure you have some unfinished business with our snake friend."

"Guys," Sirius says, grabbing Dorea's arm.

As soon as he speaks, the end of the basilisk's tail swooshes through the air and head straight towards them.

"Fuck!" Hermione swears as they all dive out of the way just in the nick of time.

The wind feels like it's been knocked out of him, and Harry groans as he rolls over onto his back, breathing in deeply before sitting up and checking on the others.

Harry looks across at Hermione, who is wincing as she sits up and when their eyes meet he nods firmly.

Harry jumps up and starts running past the others back towards the tunnel, his feet splashing loudly through the water that is now covering the walkway.

Déjà vu.

 _Run, Run, Run_ , is the only thought in his mind.

Run.

Harry can hear the basilisk slithering after him, he can taste its wrath, he can feel its fury and he hear its rage.

Harry doesn't know where he's running to or why, he should have stayed with the others, he shouldn't have separated from the pack.

He pants heavily as he stops in one of the bends, stopping at a dead end. _Shit._

Then, silence.

Harry waits for the snake to appear, but it doesn't.

It stopped following him. It realized what he was doing, that he was but one wizard and one of the others must have made a noise to lure it back.

Harry takes off again, part of him wondering if the basilisk isn't just waiting for him, thinking that if given enough time he'll come back straight into a trap and into its awaiting mouth.

Harry bursts back into the Chamber and he hears Hermione scream.

Sirius dives away from the basilisk's mouth that had just slammed into the stone, and it hisses angrily when it straightens up, exposing its long and pointed teeth.

Harry watches as Dorea severs the very end of its tail clean from its body and the beast lets out a mighty cry.

The smile is quickly removed from Dorea's face when the bloody stump lifts off the ground and slams into her, sending her careening across the room.

Hermione is scaling the statue and Harry gets pulled back to that day all over again, except it's him scaling that statue.

 _I need to buy time_ , Harry thinks.

Sirius is preoccupied with dodging the beast's mouth as it relentless goes after the raven haired boy.

Harry sets off running again, narrowly avoiding the basilisk as he rushes to Dorea's side. He slips and slides, but manages to crudely halt before tripping over her.

She is holding her head as she sits up, and there is a gash across her head and Harry winces as the blood gushes out with the aid of gravity.

He shrugs off his hoodie and crudely folds it, bending down beside her and pressing it against her wound. He drops his wand beside him in his haste.

Harry glances over his shoulder to see Sirius still distracting the beast.

"I'm a fucking Slytherin you fucking snake!" Dorea snarls nastily under her breath.

"I don't think it cares, Grandma," Harry says, "okay, just keep pressure on that. I'm going to make sure Hermione kills this thing."

Dorea nods absently, one of her eyes closing slightly as she scowls at the beast.

Harry picks up his wand and ducks when the basilisk's tail swipes in his direction, knocking over a pillar in the process instead.

Harry curses under his breath as he avoids the debris, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle his cry of pain when a piece of jagged rock slices across his leg. Shaking, he looks down and thanks Merlin that it doesn't look too deep—he can manage it.

Cursing he uses his wand to make a small cut on the bottom of his shirt and he rips a large piece off, leaning down to securely fasten the fabric across his wound. Regardless, crimson quickly seeps through the blue fabric as he runs to Sirius's side.

The boy is covered in sweat from head to toe, his hairline is absolutely drenched and bits of his hair are sticking to his face.

Sirius deftly sidesteps to the right to avoid the basilisk going in for another blow, Harry closes the distance between the two boys and grasps Sirius's arm, his fingers sliding across the boy's skin.

"We need to lure it over there," Harry jerks his head towards where Hermione is poised, looking scared out of her mind and as determined as ever.

The two boys nod and without another moment of hesitation they bolt towards the statue.

" _I can hear you boy! I am going to enjoy swallowing you and your friends whole!"_

The blood is pumping in his ears, he is warm all over, his fingertips itch and his leg is throbbing painfully—it's bearable, especially compared to some of his other injuries, but it still hurts dreadfully—and his glasses are sliding back and forth across the bridge of his nose.

Harry and Sirius finally reach the statue and they whir around to face the basilisk slithering towards them with immense speed and purpose.

"Hermione! NOW!" Harry yells, and time stops.

He tilts his head back to look up and he sees Hermione sailing through the air, unruly curls flying out behind her as she gracefully dives toward the snake, hands both gripping the hilt.

Harry can feel the hot breath of the basilisk as it nears, and he jumps out to the side, hoping that Sirius followed suit in the other direction.

Harry glances up from the ground to see Hermione on top of the basilisk's head, panting heavily, hands wrapped firmly around the sword's hilt and the blade is sunk directly into the basilisk's skull.

The beast starts to thrash uncontrollably, hissing incoherently, and Hermione is thrown off of the snake, a small cry escaping her lips as she hits the ground with a scarily loud thump. A pained cry spills from her lips as she clutches her arm—she fell sideways and her arm got the brunt of the impact.

The basilisk's head falls to the stone floor with enough force to make it feel like the ground it moving, and then it is still. It is dead.

Harry wants to cry in triumph, but he knows that it isn't a clean victory, they are all wounded to some degree, and they need to get out of this forsaken place as quickly as they can.

Harry gets up and in his peripherals he sees that Dorea has crawled over to Hermione and is looking her over.

 _She is in good hands_ , Harry thinks tiredly, all of the energy drained out of him.

He limps over to the basilisk, and on his way he sees the sword vanish from the beast's skull into thin air; most likely returning to its proper home.

Harry reaches into his jean pocket and retrieves the pouch Hermione had placed an undetectable extension charm on and grimaces at how warm around the basilisk's gaping mouth is.

"How are we going to get them out of there without getting our arms shredded and dying from basilisk venom?" Sirius asks.

"That is a spectacular question," Harry responds, " we could sever them and then levitate them into the bag?"

"That sounds like a brilliant plan," Sirius agrees with a heavy sigh, immediately getting to work.

Not too long afterwards, they are all laid up in the Infirmary with Madam Pomfrey fussing over them and Dumbledore sitting neatly on a stool with a perplexed expression on his face.

"A basilisk has been down there this entire time?"

"Yes, Dumbledore. Now can you shut your face? I am in pain and I would like to be spared of further distress by having to listen to you prattle on," Dorea groans, smiling dimly at Poppy as she examines Dorea's head.

"It's probably normally in a state of hibernation," Hermione mumbles absently, grasping her side in agony as whatever Pomfrey had given her works its way through her system.

Sirius is sitting on the edge of Hermione's bed, one hand on her leg in comfort—he has a few cuts and bruises but nothing life threatening.

Harry smiles as he watches Dorea and Dumbledore banter back and forth, he can tell they are both having fun even if they won't ever admit it—the corner of Dorea's lips are curled upwards and Dumbledore's eyes are sparkling with mirth.

A potent sense of victory is palpable in the air, it dances across his skin and seeps into his bones, warming him from the inside.

Not many people get to say they've gone against a basilisk and come out of it victorious... _twice_.

Harry is floating happily in the sky, a joyous bubble envelops the room and for one moment. Everything is grand.

Then the double doors to the Infirmary burst open and a frantic blond haired boy stands in front of them. Broad shoulders rising and falling, his heavy pants filling the room, bright blue eyes wide with fright, brow dripping with sweat.

"I...I've been looking everywhere for you. L-Lily sent me. There's been an incident," Franks heaves out.

A needle stabs violently into his bubble and despair scurries back, eagerly filling every nook and cranny that it can, clawing desperately at Harry's chest.

The moment is over, and reality has sunk in once again. Harry's heart squeezes tightly and he holds his breath, because what could be so bad that Lily can't come to tell them herself?


	42. Ambush

**Hello my lovelies.**

 **My evening isn't going so well, and I was going to wait until a bit longer before posting this, but I thought maybe this would help brighten things for me a little, maybe. I don't know. I really do hope you enjoy this chapter x**

 **Voting is still open and I'm pretty sure this is the last time I'll be updating before it closes, and if you want to vote and you haven't yet, the link is here (as always just remove the asterisks) :** **https*:*/*docs*.*google*.*com*/*forms*/*d*/*e/*1FAIpQLSc-X4hClylcsnMdq63ePSdLasUOB0CpW2XU49AA1o0Ot0OeYg*/*viewform**

 **Thank you so much to everyone that reviewed the last chapter, you are all lovely, lovely people xxx**

 **Please, please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

Remus can't breathe, he can't move. His muscles are locked in place by the overwhelming shock—as if his mind can't quite wrap itself around what he is seeing.

This can't be happening, this _can't_ be real.

 _They'd_ known, they'd _always_ known. The Death Eaters had known that they were coming, and the Order had played into their hands, blindly dancing to their enticing tune; and how could they not have? The Intel was simply _too_ good not to act on.

Remus should have known the moment he saw how uneasy Ron was this morning before they left. He should have known that they would be walking into a carefully orchestrated trap. He should have known.

* * *

Quiet. _Too_ quiet.

A sharp crack splits the air and four figures appear. Wary, wands at the ready, immediately moving into a quick and tight circle with all of their backs facing inwards.

Remus can hear the three other heartbeats, their paces a little erratic. He can't blame them, he can practically taste his own heartbeat racing along.

Their shoes sink slightly into the earth, softened by several days of continuous rainfall—today there is not a drop in sight. The clouds are barely visible as the evening wears into night and it is as if they refuse to let any water fall, it's as if nature is holding its breath. The damp smelling air is stagnant, not a whiff of breeze anywhere to be found, an almost stiff stillness pervades through the area.

"I'll go scout ahead with Michael," Ron whispers just loud enough so that they can all hear.

James firmly shakes his head, gesturing at the ginger that they should all stick together. Ron pauses, face twisted in deep thought, and after a long moment he sighs heavily through his nostrils. He nods curtly.

They had landed amongst some thick foliage (whilst James knew it was a smart tactic, he had still glared at Michael when they arrived—the wizard had come alone to scout out the area that morning, and also so that they would be able to apparate here directly) and it is taking some careful navigation to find their way out of it.

When they finally emerge on the other side of the thickly woven bushes they immediately see an imposing, forsaken looking, two storey building. Any glass in the windows is long since gone—small piles of it litter the outskirts of the structure—massive vines snake in and around the building, scaling it all the way to the top. Some of the brick walls on the ground level are crumbling and falling apart, the floor above appears to still be intact, but Remus wouldn't trust it for a second.

Remus tries to see inside its' interior, but the shadows within are as thick as sludge, which only seems to unsettle him further.

 _Moony_ stirs, he is on edge, and Remus can't help the low growl that rumbles in his throat.

The group slowly creeps toward the eerie building, when, suddenly, an invisible wave washes over them and the building is no longer a ruin; it is in pristine condition, almost glowing in the twilight.

 _Shit,_ Remus thinks.

Not only is the building in impeccable condition—the outside white and free of any weathering or stains, not a vine or weed in sight, all of the walls intact, bright light pouring out of the large windows—but there are also about a dozen wix staring at them hungrily.

The witch at the front of the pack takes a step towards them and Remus can't help but flinch. He swallows thickly.

Bloodlust. The witch's eyes are swimming with delight and madness, the corners of her mouth keep twitching as her smile gets larger and larger. Her gaze roves over the four of them, and her smile falters for a moment, then dissipates entirely as her mouth puckers into a sour pout of disappointment.

"Sirius isn't with you," Bellatrix says dejectedly. "Ah well, I'm sure I'll have another opportunity to dispose of him."

"What are we going to do?" Michael whispers, his voice shaking and Remus can hear his heartbeat jumping around in terror.

The other Death Eaters look eager, ready to rip into them.

 _Over my dead body,_ Remus tells himself, trying not to panic. Panicking won't help anyone.

"When _you_ came earlier it was way too easy keeping ourselves hidden," Bellatrix smirks, staring directly at Michael, raising her wand and jabbing it in his direction. With a contented sigh she continues, "we hoped you'd bring more play things and you most _certainly_ delivered."

Remus can't help but catch the giddy undertone to her voice, and he clutches his wand tighter, trying to think of some way to get them all out of this alive.

Bellatrix takes another step towards them, "so you see boys...you've seen one of our bases...which means I can't let you live. It just wouldn't be right, would it?" She says it in a way that would make you think she had some remorse, her face thoughtful as she looks at them with wide eyes.

She halts.

She frowns deeply.

"Who are you?" Bellatrix breathes so softly that Remus barely catches it. The other Death Eaters are getting antsy, one of them growls loudly and glares at Bellatrix, unsure as to why she hasn't attacked them yet.

Remus follows her train of sight and sees that her eyes have landed on Ron, properly looking at him for the first time and probably realizing that he is not Arthur like she originally suspected.

Ron is just in front of Remus, and he can't see the ginger boy's face, but he does see how relaxed Ron's body language is, not to mention the boy's heart rate is the steadiest of everyone in the clearing.

Remus can hear the smile in Ron's voice as he says, "none of your damn business, _Bella_."

Bellatrix instantly growls, her brow furrowing further into her face, and her mouth opens to shout a spell, as her wand arm raises.

It all slows, Remus hears more than sees Ron move, but in his peripherals he catches the way Ron fluidly throws a spell at Bellatrix. She dodges, snarling as she throws up a shield. She parries. If he wasn't scared shitless right now, he would've marvelled at the grace in which they are duelling.

Flashes of light, flying back and forth.

The Death Eaters stir, snarling as they begin their assault. _One. Two. Three._

A loud bang.

Everything sharply, suddenly, comes back into focus, like a bus had just slammed into him.

Remus can't focus on the others, he barely sees them as he throws up a shield.

Sweat is trickling down his brow, he blinks. He inhales and begins to hurl _Expelliarmus_ and _Stupefy_ after _Expelliarmus_ and _Stupefy_. _One. Two. Three._

Soon he is dodging and blocking whilst throwing whatever he can think of on the fly at the enemy.

They are fighting for their lives, but _somehow_ holding their own.

Remus is so intently focused on his own battle that he doesn't see how Ron is battling Bellatrix whilst taking out a couple other death eaters whilst he's at it. They are nowhere near as menacing and powerful as they had originally thought.

They may actually have a chance.

Then, it comes, clear as day, a sound of anguish so guttural it rips into Remus's heart and sends shards of fright into his stomach. He hastily wipes his brow.

Remus disarms and stuns the brown haired Death Eater that is charging towards him, and allows himself to look, to see who had been hit.

Michael.

The boy stumbles forward, clutching his face as he turns purple and begins to bulge. Remus blinks and James is running towards Michael, covering himself and throwing spells as he goes. Remus blinks and Ron is yelling, " _NO!"_

Remus's heart sinks.

He can't do anything.

There are four Death Eaters not including Bellatrix left standing, and two of them are advancing on him, relentless sending spells his way. The barrage of spells are slamming forcefully into his shield and he grits his teeth as he goes completely on the defensive.

A bead of sweat races down the side of his face and he blinks again.

The other two Death Eaters attacked Michael and are now firing nasty hexes at James.

James has one arm around Michael—whose screams of agony have not lessened, but Remus is drowning it out, attempting to split his attention to the events transpiring not even fifteen feet away from him and the two wix trying to kill him.

Green light smashes against his shield and Remus's concentration almost breaks.

Blink.

Remus takes a risk, he deftly fires a spell at his attackers, the severing hex lands—cleaving straight through one of their legs.

The woman falls, her screams join the others. She drops her wand, and the other is angered by this. Spell after spell.

Then. It happens.

Michael begins to claw at his face, his entire body swollen and bloated, one last agonizing cry spilling from his lips before he goes limp. The sudden shift in weight makes James slip in the dirt as he tries to catch himself. His wand arm partially bent as he falls to the ground.

The Death Eaters see their opportunity and take it.

Remus isn't sure when he starts screaming.

He takes another risk, vibrant tongues of orange slithering and biting out of the tip of his wand before engulfing his opponents. Both of them wholly unprepared as they are set ablaze, their screams blending with his, although theirs are more shrill.

The smell of their burning flesh crawls his skin.

Remus blinks.

Ron shouts, " _protego!_ " just as the dark purple, sinister coloured spell soars through the air, just as it slams straight into James.

Remus's heart is in his ears. All he can think is, _not James. Not Prongs. Not James._

He doesn't realise he is sprinting until he's sliding into the dirt, his knees harshly impacting the soil, tiny pebbles digging into his kneecaps.

Michael's body is partially covering James's legs, and Prongs is staring upwards, eyes darting around wildly as if seeing but not seeing.

The tangy metallic smell punches its way into the damp air, slicing through it easily.

The smell of death is potent, the sour smell of piss twisting with the scent blood and smoke.

Remus's eyes round as the thick crimson starts to pour out of James lower abdomen, his shirt shredded into ribbons.

So much blood. Blood. Blood. Blood.

He barely feels it as one of the Death Eater's slicing hexes catches his arm, cutting deep into the muscle but not deep enough to be fatal.

He manages to throw up a _Protego_ , somehow. Somehow.

Rage. Fear. More rage.

The fear almost stops his heart because the blood just won't _stop._

The rage takes over, _Moony_ howls inside him. _Mine_ , Moony snarls. _Pack._

Bellatrix lets out a shrill laugh, but it stops abruptly as Ron catches her off guard and stuns her. Her mad smile fades as she slumps to the ground, face down in the soft earth.

Ron is about to send another spell at her when one of the Death Eaters sends a hex his way. Ron shakes his head, "tsk, tsk, _tsk_."

Remus is so lost that he doesn't notice when Ron steps in front of them, aggressively sending spells at the remaining Death Eaters.

Soon they are retreating and with one vociferous cry, Ron breaks through their shields, his severing spell slicing through them like butter.

Remus's hands are pressing into James's wound, applying pressure and the warm sticky substance is _covering_ his fingers.

"It won't stop, it won't stop, it won't stop," Remus says. The darkness is creeping in on the edges of his vision, like he has blinders on and can't see anything else.

" _Breathe_ , Remus," Ron says, kneeling down on the other side of James. His voice is steady, but Remus can _feel_ his fear, his panic.

Ron reaches over and presses two fingers against the side of Michael's swollen neck, sighing heavily when he pulls his hand away.

Remus already knows Michael is dead, his breathing had stopped minutes prior.

Suddenly Remus can't breathe, it's all too much. James's breathing however, is only growing more shallow.

This can't be happening.

"Remus. Remus."

Ron is calling his name, but his tongue feels as heavy as lead, as if it is swelling and filling his mouth. He _can't_ find it in him to say anything.

" _Remus,_ " Ron says his name harshly.

Remus's head snaps up violently, his eyes as wide as saucers. His best mate's life is draining out of him and nothing Remus is doing is helping.

The kind blue eyes anchor him in his sea of anxious uncertainty, his mounting fear frozen in its ascension.

Ron tucks his wand in his back pocket and presses his hands on top of Remus's, eyes glancing at James's face as his eyelids flutter shut, and as he loses consciousness.

"Fuck. Okay, I'm going to apparate us. He isn't in the best condition for it…but...but we're going to have to risk it."

Remus can only nod.

Ron closes his eyes, face contorted in concentration, his lips are pressing together in a severe white line; a breath, followed by a staggering crack later, and they're gone.


	43. Help!

**Hello Hello!**

 **I don't know if everyone that normally reads Dalliance has read the last chapter yet, but I'm having a lot of fun writing it at the moment so I thought I'd update early this week (somehow I almost have an update schedule for this story, which is mad, HOW?!)**

 **Thank you, thank you to everyone who reads this story, and a special thank you to those of you who review lovely things, you are brilliant xxx**

 **Please, please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **There are still a couple days left to vote in the Marauder Medals, and as always, please vote and just remove the asterisks from the link: https*:*/*docs*.*google*.*com*/*forms*/*d*/*e/*1FAIpQLSc-X4hClylcsnMdq63ePSdLasUOB0CpW2XU49AA1o0Ot0OeYg*/*viewform**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for my dear Sable and my lovely Lais xxx**

* * *

 _Shoes squeaking on polished floors, almost slipping in their haste, a trail of crimson droplets following them._

" _HELP US!" They cry desperately. Help us._

Remus flinches when a pair of beaten up trainers stop beside him.

Jasmine. She smells like jasmine. It soon gets scrubbed away by the sterile smell that clings to these corridors—a stark contrast to the pungent smells that had attacked his senses not too long ago. The jasmine gets lost in the tangy, metallic scent that has latched onto him, digging its claws deep into his flesh.

 _They almost crash into a spindly looking man with tiny spectacles. His furry blond eyebrows shoot up in alarm once he looks them over. He curses._

" _Help us," they beg, both glancing at the limp figure they are carrying princess style in between them; each pressing a hand to the boy's abdomen._

 _The man steps to the side and gestures to an open door a few feet away, "quickly in there!"_

He can feel her body heat radiating off of her, and her words come out as a garbled mess, or perhaps he just can't hear her properly. His head is spinning.

 _He blinks and the next thing he knows they are laying the raven haired boy on the bed._

 _The spindly man is stronger than he appears, knocking the werewolf out of the way—not unkindly—and he mutters an incantation and a loud ringing sound erupts from his wand._

In his peripherals he can see her peering at his wound, she's asking questions. So many questions. He ignores her. He can't focus. Everything is moving so slowly.

 _Remus let's out a sharp gasp of pain, it's so_ _ **loud**_ _, even when it stops he can still hear it. Ring, ring, ringing._

 _Healers rush into the room and soon they are all calling out commands and shielding James from view._

 _Someone grabs his arm—the bad one and he snarls viciously, his head snaps in their direction, eyes shining amber and gold._

 _Jasmine._

 _The female Healer drops his arm as if he's burned her and stumbled back, fear painted across her features._

 _It hurts._

 _A male healer is right behind her, a sneer deeply carved into his face as he realizes_ _ **what**_ _Remus is. "You're one of_ _ **them**_ _."_

 _He gruffly grabs Remus by the front of his shirt, "you need to leave."_

 _Ron is yelling at the man, hands moving to pry Remus from his grip._

" _JAMES."_

It stings.

Fingertips like ice, touch the skin just below his wound and _Moony_ lets out a soft whine. Or did he? He doesn't know. He feels so heavy.

So heavy.

He can't feel anything aside from her fingers and the cold floor cutting into his arse.

 _Where is Ron?_ Remus thinks absently.

" _Get out you filthy beast!" The male healer exclaims, not releasing his vice grip on Remus, his other hand moves to furrow into Remus's hair and it's like all the strength in his body is drained out of him._

 _He catches sight of ginger hair, and then Remus barely catches sight of Ron before the wizard dives forward and sinks his teeth into the Healer's arm._

 _The healer loosens his grip, an angry cry erupting from his thick lips._

 _Ron leans back with disgust smeared across his face, "mate, you can fuck off. If you say anything moronic like that again, I'll show you a_ _ **real**_ _beast." Ron smiles mockingly then, his promise hanging in the air like an exclamation point._

 _Ron grabs Remus's good arm and pulls him outside of the room, they step to the left of the doorway and Ron's mouth is moving but Remus doesn't catch all of it. His ears are still ringing._

 _Lily, Patronus…Dorea...be right back. Stay here._

Tears well up in Remus's eyes, blurring his vision until everything is a mess of colour.

 _Remus stumbles backwards, back hitting harshly into the wall. He winces. His knee buckles and he roughly slides down against the wall._

 _He's exhausted. He just wants to sleep. His eyes are locked onto the drying blood that coats his arms, is smeared across his abdomen and jeans._

 _It hurts._

 _Pain is radiating from his arm, and weaving its way across his body and the gash is pulsing as if it has its own heartbeat._

 _It hurts._

 _He blinks blankly and his eyes are burning, the tears hanging off his bottom lashes._

 _He takes a deep breath and lets it shudder out of him, his head falling back against the wall and his breathing is getting quicker and more and more shallow._

 _He should find someone to help. He should get up. Remus moves his fingers, his vision clearing slightly as he glances at his hand, but it's not moving._

 _I need...to...get up, he thinks tiredly. He needs to move._

 _He vaguely hears the door open._

 _Squeak, squeak, squeak._

 _Then the jasmine wafts into his nose. It takes a colossal amount of effort to blink a few times, but he does and everything sharpens slightly._

 _Then she starts talking and it takes way too much effort to listen to her._

 _He just wants to sleep._

 _It's probably a good thing that I'm still in pain, Remus muses. He glances at the starch white ceiling and blinks again, slowly, ever so slowly. Everything is all distorted and weird._

 _She gives up on talking to him he assumes because then she's assessing his wound._

 _Then come her cold fingers._

It's so cold, cold is everywhere and it doesn't hurt as much anymore.

Spots begin to dance in front of his eyes and he's smiling, at least he thinks he is, he can't tell if he's actually moving or not.

He swallows thickly, his tongue dry and like a chunk of lead in his mouth.

It takes everything he has left to turn his head and look at the healer. He sees light brown eyes and an errant thought passes through his mind, _Hermione._

His lips part and he musters up one last burst of energy and it comes out as a low, low murmur, "help me."

One of his eyelids twitches half closed and then he simply fades into darkness.


	44. They Are Going To Be Okay

**HELLO LOVES!**

 **I'm in such a good mood today, (and somehow I actually have a chapter ready) so I thought I'd update a bit early. I was going to post on Friday, but like I said, I'm in a phenomenal mood today.**

 **THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR REVIEWS. I love how everyone seems so happy that Ron bit that healer lol. That healer is a bit of a dick ngl.**

 **Please review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Sable and Lais xxx**

 **This chapter is dedicated to Jhuffy, because she is amazing and I still can't believe she reviewed every chapter. WHAT?! That's why this chapter is for her and I am still in shock that she did that. THANK YOU again lovely xoxox**

* * *

She flies into the building like a tornado, crimson hair whipping out behind her, bright green eyes darting about frantically; worry carved deep into her features.

Ron's message had been so vague, so rushed. She'd clambered off her bed, wildly brushing her hair out of her face as she sent her own rushed message to Frank—the first person that came to mind—asking him to let Harry, Dorea, Sirius and Hermione know that something had gone dreadfully wrong and to meet her at St. Mungo's.

Before she knows it, she'd left the house in one of James's shirts and a pair of navy blue jeans shorts that she'd cut out of a pair of jeans. It is only as she walks into the hospital that she begins to process properly what she'd heard.

James and Remus are injured, Michael is dead, there had been an ambush.

Lily ducks and weaves around Mediwizards in lime green uniform robes, her focus entirely set on the reception desk.

Instead of the receptionist—who appears to be away or on break—there is a Healer standing on the other side of the tall, smooth mahogany counter. He looks very cross, and he is lazily sorting through a short stack of parchment, absently placing them in piles on the desk attached to the other side of the counter.

"Excuse me," Lily says, tightly smiling at the man. She begins to tap her foot unconsciously. _Please let them all be okay_ , she pleads silently, her heart squeezing painfully. She swallows thickly and tries to remain calm. It will all be okay. They _will_ be okay.

A loud bang comes from behind her and Lily jumps instinctively, her heart galloping out of her chest. The doe in her wants to make a break for it, to put as much space between her and this loud place as it can. She takes a deep breath, and turns—wide eyed— her full attention back to the Healer.

She realises that he is shooting a judgemental look at her feet and she bows her head to follow his train of sight, and is greeted by the sight of one fluffy purple sock on one foot, and a short yellow one on the other, then to top it off nicely, a pair of mismatched trainers.

She smiles sheepishly at the Healer, who gives her a droll look and exasperated sigh in return as his gaze shifts back to her face. She notes that his eyes linger on the tattoo on her neck and his displeasure only becomes more evident.

"How may I help you?" The man asks, reaching up to scratch the side of his face, loosely clutching the remaining pieces of parchment with his other hand.

"I received news that my husband and my friend were brought in a while ago, and that they are severely injured, could you perhaps—"

"You're with the crazy ginger and the mutt?" The man frowns deeply, cutting her off.

"I...I beg your pardon," Lily says, aghast, her mouth agape and her hands balling into fists at her sides.

The man clicks his teeth together, "yea, they're being tended to. You can take a seat over there." He jerks his chin dismissively in the direction of the waiting area.

Lily instinctively glances over her shoulder at the small waiting room with its' rickety wooden chairs: there is an older witch minding two small children playing with noisy toys (the boy has a finger sticking out of the middle of his forehead and the girl is hiccoughing small flame bursts), a young man whose face is swelling slightly on the right side and oozing a thick, neon blue substance, and finally an elderly gentleman—sitting with a glum looking witch who can't be more than twenty-five—gazing off into the distance muttering incoherently.

Lily faces the man once more and notices the nasty bite mark on his forearm—there are irritated red welts rising up around the broken skin. _Good_ , Lily thinks.

"I'm sorry, but maybe you didn't _hear_ me...I said that I received news that my husband and my friend were _badly_ injured—"

"Look lady, I told you that they are being treated. Now why don't you be a good girl and take a seat in the waiting room like I told you to," The healer says, voice dripping with contempt and condescension.

Lily grinds her teeth together, narrowing her eyes into slits, she leans forward, tiptoeing and placing her forearms on top of the counter. She looks him dead in the eye, and whilst putting emphasis on every syllable that falls from her lips, she slowly says, "Where. Is. My. Husband?"

"Bitch. I suggest you do as I asked."

Lily's eyes nearly pop out of their sockets, and a trenchant growl rips from her lips. She is _this_ close to diving across the counter and strangling the crude wanker, but she reins it in at the last moment. She doesn't wish to be removed from the premise for suffocating a Healer.

"I suggest you tell me where my husband and friend are before you live to regret it," Lily says with a thin lipped smile. She is digging her nails into the centre of her palms as hard as she can to prevent herself from doing anything rash, and she's almost positive that she's drawn blood.

He rolls his eyes and goes back to sorting his papers, outright ignoring her and under his breath he mutters, "crazy cunt."

She should be given an award for not at least punching the bastard.

"Fuck you," Lily hisses as she steps back from the counter, flicking her hair over her shoulder whilst she storms past the counter and down a corridor to the right.

The man makes a loud noise, dropping the rest of his papers on his desk and chases after her. With a few long strides, he catches up and gruffly grabs her arm.

Lily clenches her jaw, curls her fist and whirls around, slamming her fist straight into his face and connecting cleanly with his long, crooked nose. Something tells her this isn't the first time this lovely gentleman has been punched in the face.

The healer cries out in surprise and anguish, hands immediately going to his face as he releases her and then stumbles backward.

"Dickhead," Lily spits as she turns on her heel and continues on her way.

She hurries down the corridor, glancing into every room she can. She isn't sure what she's looking for exactly. She just keeps going, hoping that she'll find them some way or another.

The corridor never seems to end and she realises that she's probably on the wrong floor. She should be on the Fourth Floor.

She doesn't know when she starts to run, but before she knows it she's sprinting down the halls, flying up stairs until she reaches the fourth floor. She'd only been here once to visit Marlene, when she had been hexed by a jealous Slytherin that was a year younger than them (when they were Sixth years).

Lily has no idea where she is, her chest is constricting painfully and it all begins to spin. Her chest is rising and falling quickly as she tries to catch her breath, she shakes her head violently and swiftly slaps her cheeks thrice.

With determination she sets off again, around bend after bend until finally she sees it.

There is a small pool of blood outside of one of the rooms, and her heart plummets into a bottomless abyss, her throat closes entirely, and she barely catches herself by getting her arm out in time to brace herself against the wall.

The tears pour down her cheeks, the fat teardrops gathering on her chin and her body trembles.

They are going to be okay.

They are going to be okay.

They are going to be _okay_.

Lily furiously wipes away her tears, and stands up on wobbly legs, sniffling loudly. Her vision is blurry and muddled as she heads towards the door.

Her fingers shake as they wrap around the doorknob, she drinks in the air deeply before letting it shudder out of her slowly. She can do this.

She twists the knob, tentatively entering the room, and her brain cannot process what it's seeing. Everything is happening so fast, and there's so much _yelling_.

One of the Healers turns around and looks at her, she can see his mouth forming words but she can't hear any of it. He steps away from the bed and she catches a glimpse of the crimson stained sheets, of the wizard's abdomen.

It's James. She just knows it.

Then she's being lifted from behind and she screams, she's kicking and lashing out and wriggling around as hard as she can, but their firm grasp doesn't let up even an inch.

After a few moments she stops struggling, she's spent, all of her energy dissipating into thin air.

They put her down, and then they spin her around and she sees familiar, kind blue eyes. She sees ginger hair, and that's when she loses it completely.

The ginger simply pulls her into a tight embrace, stroking her hair gently and murmuring words of comfort that she barely hears. All she can do is cry.


	45. Now We Wait

**Happy Sunday lovelies!**

 **I am going to try to post a chapter a week for as long as I can, so hopefully that plan works out x**

 **THANK you for all your reviews, you lot are so lovely!**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for my loves Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Wednesday, 23rd May, 1979**

 **Early hours of the morning**

 **St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries**

Three wix run straight into one of glass windows of the red-bricked, condemned department store—Purge and Dowse, Ltd.

(Harry complained bitterly and tried to negotiate that he come to the hospital as well, but they insisted that he _had_ to stay out of sight. The Death Eaters didn't know about him and they needed to keep it that way; especially since they had no idea if they now knew about Ron—which was a risk they knew they were taking. He had begrudgingly agreed, and Frank side-along apparated him directly back to Potter Manor—taking all of the basilisk fangs with him.)

The girl with the honey brown curls is at the front of the pack, leading the charge. She narrowly avoids slamming into several of the Healers that are bustling about busily.

Now that she's closer she can _feel_ him; an invisible string is tugging her towards him, its pull is getting more faint by the minute and that doesn't help soothe her nerves.

She finally reaches the reception desk, her heart in her throat as she stares in confusion at the two male healers behind it.

One of them is leaning his head back and his colleague is aiming his wand at the man's nose—which Hermione realises is bruised and bleeding. With a sharp crack, the man's nose snaps back into places and he groans softly.

Hermione senses the anxious energy from her companions and waits a moment before piping up with, "excuse me. We're looking for two wizards who came in earlier—"

The man whose nose is newly fixed and set flies around aggressively, eyes wide with rage. " _NO._ I _refuse_ to let even _one_ more of you crazy bastards into my hospital. No more of your fucking mottley crew is allowed on the premise. There are too many of you running amuck and I will _not_ have anymore of it."

Hermione recoils at his nasty, venomous tone, blinking rapidly, unsure on how to respond since she was wholly unprepared for that acidic quip. She pauses. Her brow knits together into a tight knot. _Wait_. Crazy bastards? Motley crew? _Surely_ , he could _not_ be referring to them.

He takes a menacing step closer to the counter and then points at the exit, " _out_!"

Rage bubbles up inside her gut, how _dare_ he speak to them like that?

Whoever broke his nose must have knocked the sense out of his head.

Hermione opens her mouth to retort when he interjects, harshly, the words assaulting them as they hurl out of his mouth, "Not a word, girl. I don't want to hear a word out of your stupid mouth."

Hermione raises an eyebrow, _he did_ _ **not**_ _just say that._

She wants to strangle him.

Sirius steps closer to the counter on Hermione's left—Dorea is a step behind her on her right—and she can hear the fury, the anger in Sirius's voice as it shakes and rumbles, "oi, mate. Who the fuck do you think you are? Our mates have been bloody _attacked_ , and you're name calling and trying to get us to leave? What the actual fuck is wrong with you?"

The Healer sneers before spitting directly in Sirius's face.

Sirius lunges at the man, but the man steps back—this however doesn't stop Sirius Black as he clambers over the counter and is about to get his hands on the bloke when he freezes in place.

Hermione frowns and realises that Dorea has her wand out and has it pointed at Sirius. Dorea shakes her head fondly at the grey-eyed boy.

Dorea can clearly see that the situation is spiralling out of control and gracefully steps in, placing a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder.

The healer closes the distance between the women and him again, cautiously eyeing Sirius as he does, "now get the hell out of my hospital."

"You keep saying _your_ hospital as if you bloody well own it," Hermione snarls, and Dorea squeezes her shoulder once. Hermione peeks at Dorea's face and sees a serene, calm expression but she can feel the fury loosely veiled beneath the surface, ablaze in her eyes.

Dorea smiles sweetly at the Healer—leaning forward across the counter—and then in one swift motion she jabs her wand into the soft flesh underneath the man's chin.

" _Boy_. You are trifling with the _wrong_ family on the _wrong_ day."

Dorea's eyes flick down to the small name tag on the man's robes, and she inclines her head to the left.

"Now, Richard. Would you be a dear, and may you please direct us to where we need to go."

He swallows loudly, dark, beady eyes flicking down to look at the wand pressing into him. He shakily raises a hand and says, "t-take the stairs to the fourth floor, just keep going and you'll f-fi-find his room."

"Good boy, _Dick_ ," Dorea says calmly, withdrawing her wand and squeezing Hermione's shoulder once before removing her hand.

Hermione glowers darkly at the man, and strides purposefully around the desk, and once on the other side she realises that they had caused quite the commotion and several wix are staring agape at them. _So much for keeping a low profile,_ she groans internally.

Dorea thaws Sirius, who is now lowly growling in the back of his throat in the Healer's direction. He defiantly wipes the spit off of his face with his sleeve and scowls deeply.

"Fuck you," Sirius says as they leave the waiting area and head in the direction that _Dick_ pointed them in.

Hermione's chest feels warmer and warmer and then they are sprinting, panting heavily and cursing profusely as they climb up the stairwell until they finally reach the fourth floor and they continue to run, until they come across an irate wizard with messy ginger hair, pacing back and forth along the corridor like a caged beast.

When he spots them, relief floods onto his face and Hermione lunges forward and crashes into him, burying her face in his chest.

Hermione had been attempting to hold the pieces of her heart together ever since the news of the incident had reached them, but in that moment she loses all of her composure.

They can't die, she can't lose anyone else she cares about. She _can't_.

Hermione's body wracks violently with sobs, hiccoughing as she gulps in air and cries. Ron's sinewy arms instantly wrap around her, cocooning her in his protective embrace.

She pulls back slightly, tears still bubbling out of her, trying to speak but her throat has zipped shut.

Dorea thankfully pipes up and asks what she cannot.

"Where are they, how are they doing?" Dorea asks worriedly, her voice trembling with trepidation—finally allowing her feelings to peek through her calm facade.

Hermione glances up at Ron's face and sees the moment the rage floods back into his features.

"They are both still being worked on," Ron says tightly. "James is worse off than Remus, but they both lost a lot of blood...plus Remus is only being attended to by one Healer."

"What!" Sirius exclaims, shaking his head violently and frowning deeply. "Why?"

Hermione's heart stops beating, its' unsteady rhythm has halted in its march. Her lungs burn as she holds her breath.

"When I found him—" Ron pauses to jerk his head in the direction of the door a few feet away, "—there was a little Healer witch that yelled for me to piss off since I was only serving as a distraction. She's the only one working on him. News apparently spread that Remus is a werewolf and some of the other Healers are staying away because of what that bitch Umbridge is doing with werewolf laws and regulations. Not to mention they don't want to get _infected_." Ron finishes, snarling out the last part with thick disgust.

"Wh-where is Lily?" Hermione asks, swallowing her tears and trying to focus.

Everything is spiralling downwards with such alarming speed in such a short span of time. _He_ was just in her arms, kissing her and telling her it would all be fine. _I can't lose them_ , Hermione cries internally.

"She felt useless waiting around, only working herself up into a nervous wreck as she put it. She went to find some more Healers that would be willing to help Remus." Ron sighs, some of his anger fleeing his body—he looks absolutely knackered.

"Fuck this," Sirius says, trembling with fury—a few strands of hair that sprung free from his messy ponytail are hanging in front of his face. He clicks his teeth together and turns away from them, shaking his head, hands curling and unfurling into fists.

He petulantly stomps his left foot once and then marches away from them with a vengeance.

"Sirius! Where are you going?" Dorea calls after the boy, taking a few steps after him before stopping.

Sirius halts, glances over his shoulder, face partially cast in shadow and replies darkly, "to take umbrage with some of these Healers, so that they'll do their bloody jobs."

With that he whirls back around, and continues on his way.

Hermione sniffs loudly.

Dorea sighs, face haggard and she seems to have aged significantly throughout this whole ordeal, then her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates and a low stream of profanity leaves her mouth. Guilt cakes her features and she looks as if she might be sick.

"I just realised that Charlus doesn't know what's happening. Harry probably told him...but still. Dammit," Dorea says, more to herself than anyone else.

She walks a ways down the corridor and takes out her wand, most likely sending her husband a Patronus to inform him of the current situation.

Hermione looks up at Ron, only loosely holding onto him now, "now we wait."

Ron grimaces but nods firmly.

Now they wait.


	46. If Not You, Then Who?

**HELLO!**

 **I know this chapter is really short. This is the last chapter that deals with them being at St. Mungo's, and there will also be a bit of a time skip after this. Just thought I'd let you know in advance. Hopefully you all like this chapter!**

 **THANK YOU for all your reviews, seriously, they are so lovely.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

An eon comes and goes, time sluggishly dragging its feet, stretching out these terrible, anxiety ridden moments.

Hermione gnaws on her bottom lip, tasting blood—her lips are chapped and dry and she's chewed them raw.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

It's eerily quiet.

Dorea is standing—still as a statue—with her forehead and hands pressed against James's door. At first she had paced back and forth, but worrying has robbed her all of her energy so she settled on being as close to James as she could possibly be.

Hermione hears hurried and quick footfalls from her right, and her head snaps in their direction. Her eyebrows questioningly shoot towards her hairline.

Three healers are hastily scurrying down the corridor, eyes wide with fear; right behind them is a frightening looking Sirius Black. Hermione can only blink blankly when Sirius snaps his fingers and points directly at Remus's room.

They nod jerkily—scared witless—and they filter into the room one after one, the door closing with a firm click behind them; they enter so swiftly that Hermione can't even catch a glance of what's happening inside .

It's only as Hermione turns back to look at Sirius that she sees a forlorn Lily trailing behind him—she's loosely grasping onto the edge of his leather jacket.

Sirius sighs heavily when he reaches her and Dorea—who immediately perks up upon seeing Lily, and strides over to the girl before fiercely gathering her up into her arms.

Sirius stops beside Hermione and all the anger has evaporated from his features. The worry is wearing him thin, his eyes look devoid of any emotion; he's utterly spent and it shows.

Hermione sniffs and steps into his side, clinging to him desperately. His pain seeps through her skin and travels straight into her bloodstream.

Time wears on slowly, the group of wix seeking comfort amongst themselves. Charlus arrives and envelops Dorea in his arms, tears silently streaming down his cheeks—Dorea sniffs hard, once, her fingers digging into him.

Hermione has no idea what time it is when a small, weary Healer emerges from Remus's room. She blinks at them in surprise, as if she wasn't expecting anyone to be there.

Hermione squeezes Lily's hand—so tightly she is probably cutting off the circulation to her fingers.

"He's going to live," the Healer says quietly. She is a mess, covered in dried rust coloured blood, some of her hair escaped her high ponytail and is now framing her face, and her face looks slightly gaunt, her eyes sunken into their sockets from exhaustion.

Hermione reaches out and pulls the Healer into a half-hug, "thank you. _Thank you_." She whispers the thanks, the worry and fear beginning to unravel in the pit of her stomach.

Hermione pulls away from the Healer, only managing to partially turn back to Lily before her knees give out. She grasps at Lily's leg with her free hand, needing to hold onto something, anything in that moment.

"Thank Merlin," Dorea murmurs softly, letting hope shine in her tone for a moment before she sniffs loudly once more.

Hermione peers up at her friend and the rest of her companions, the dread comes back full force as she sees all of their torn faces. Their joy at hearing about Remus is weighed down, brutally dragged back into the black depths of fear and uncertainty—choking them, stealing away all the goodness and light that they had been blessed with for one glorious moment.

 _James_. They still have no idea how he's doing, and from what they had managed to pry from Ron, his injury was extensive.

More waiting.

Eventually Ron softly announces that he can't stand around, waiting for what feels like the other shoe to drop. He needs to be figuring out what went wrong. _Who_ was at fault for this. Right before he left, he placed a chaste kiss to Hermione's forehead and tacked on that he would go and update Harry on the state of things.

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but she found she just didn't have it in her. She can see how antsy Ron is, how he feels trapped and like he should be helping.

When he leaves, what little calm she has wrangled up shifts, unsettling itself and fleeing swiftly. She's on edge, and if Sirius wasn't sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her, stroking her hair and murmuring comforting things she would probably be hyperventilating and losing all of her composure.

The waiting never seems to end.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Then, the door opens and the waiting is over.

* * *

"Was it you?" Ron asks calmly, blue eyes flashing dangerously as he leans against the wall beside the window in the stifling hot room—swaddled in shadow and night.

"Pardon?" The other wizard asks groggily, rubbing absently at one of his eyes as he emerges from his chambers. He is donned in thin periwinkle sleeping robes, his feet shoved into a pair of matching slippers—that are a touch too small.

"Are you the one that sold us out?" Ron elaborates, pushing up off of the wall and striding towards the older wizard with ire and unbridled fury. His frightening presence towering over the other man, who shrank back at the animosity radiating off of the ginger man.

He straightens himself up, pushing his shoulders back and staring Ron directly in his eyes, "no."

"Are you sure? A bit of revenge after what happened with Dorea? You sure you weren't a touch bitter after you couldn't get your way? After you couldn't send Remus off to live in the werewolf packs?" Ron hisses lowly. "You're the one who sent us on the bloody mission after all."

"My dear boy, I would never." Dumbledore says in utter confusion, one hand moving to rest on Ron's shoulder—Ron stiffens.

Dumbledore continues, "of course I was thrown off-kilter by the whole experience, but I can assure you that I have no ill will towards any of you."

"Bollocks."

"I swear it," Dumbledore says.

"If it wasn't you that betrayed us...then who did?"


	47. Tell Me More

**HELLO LOVELIES.**

 **I am trying to participate in Nanowrimo this year and kind of failing, but yet kind of succeeding at the same time.**

 **THANK YOU for all your reviews. Seriously, thank you all so, so much! 800 reviews?! WhAT?!**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Wednesday** **, 23rd May, 1979**

 **Nott Manor**

"I _know_ what I saw," Bellatrix hisses.

They are three people in the room, and Bellatrix is glowering darkly at one of them. Theodus Nott rolls his eyes at her, clearly thinking this is a waste of his time.

"My Lord she is clearly lying," Theodus sighs, turning away from the witch and taking a few steps towards the figure cast in shadow standing by the large window on the other side of the room.

The Dark Lord's index finger is lightly tracing a pattern across the window pane, the horizon is a bluish grey colour tinged with a bit of yellow as the sun begins its ascent.

"Why would she lie, Theodus?" Voldemort asks softly, still backing them.

"It was her first mission at the helm and she was ill equipped to handle it, thus resulting in the death of her comrades. She's concocted an elaborate story to cover her arse," Theodus states, ice blue eyes sparking with irritation.

"I _am not lying_ ," Bellatrix repeats, sneering nastily at Theodus and striding right up to him and jabbing him in his chest.

Theodus raises an eyebrow and looks down at the deranged witch, "do that again and you'll lose your hand," he says calmly.

Bellatrix narrows her eyes at him, "call me a liar again and I'll lob your head off old man."

Theodus snorts, "that's likely."

" _Hush._ Both of you," Voldemort says in a harsh whisper, finally turning away from the glass and slowly closing the distance between him and the witch.

No matter how much time passes, seeing his friend's livid scarlet eyes is always a bit of a shock. Yet as time passes Tom's face thins, and is almost unrecognizable to the person he once knew.

He's always been tall, with a charming aura that once enveloped him: now however, all that's left is a cold and imposing feeling that emits from him and burrows its way into your very soul.

Theodus had never been afraid of his friend, but in recent months Tom had changed drastically. Now he's so pale that freshly fallen snow would be envious, his nose is as flat as a snake's with slits where his nostrils should be.

It is only then that he allows himself to consider that perhaps what he and Abraxas had once discussed all those years ago was true. That Tom had meddled with some rare magic, namely magic that is born through solely dark intentions. He recalls how at the time, he and Abraxas had outright dismissed the notion that Tom may have dabbled in the forbidden practices they had suspected him of undertaking. Now he is not so sure.

 _Was it only a few months ago now?_ Theodus wonders silently. It was if the entire world had shifted, and the friend he once knew has been erased in a very short space of time; once he'd been vibrant, charismatic, not to mention excited to pave a new future.

"Everything is falling into place, Theodus," Tom had said with a crooked smirk.

Then he strides into the library at a leisurely pace, his pupils like slits, his eyes roving around the room coldly.

The Dark Lord is colder now, more calculating than ever before. Theodus can't recall the last time he heard the man—if he can even call his friend that anymore—laugh.

Tom had done something that could not be undone, and Theodus isn't sure he'll ever find out what that something is.

The only sound in the room is Tom's light footfalls as he crosses the room, and Theodus silently watches as one of his oldest friends approaches the deranged, young witch—with bouncy curls that spring out wildly in every direction, with greedy grey eyes that are muddied with lust and madness.

He watches as Tom cocks his head curiously at the small thing.

Tom lifts his left hand, the back of his long, pale index finger strokes her cheek almost affectionately, and Bellatrix grins up at him with mad adoration.

Theodus bites back a scoff—Tom's temper has gotten out of control in recent times, he wouldn't wish to upset him.

"Tell me more about this ginger haired boy," Tom asks gently.

Bellatrix giggles.


	48. He Is My Pup

**HELLLOOOOOO my lovelies! I hope you are all well x**

 **I'm really excited for you guys to read this chapter, so I thought I'd update a bit early this week! Thank you so much for all your reviews. Now our ginger haired youth is now on Voldy's radar, which is definitely not good, but I guess we'll just have to wait and see how that pans out, won't we? ;)**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for my dears Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Sunday, 27th May, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

 _Smack!_ The slap rings loud and clear as a bell.

Mipsy is standing on the foot of the bed, shaking her head defiantly, hand still raised. There is a split second where Kreacher is completely stunned with shock, eyes firmly set on the hand that Mipsy had slapped—Mipsy takes advantage of his shock and snatches the bandages out of the other House Elf's grasp.

Kreacher scowls darkly, "Mipsy should not have done that."

Mispy harrumphs, narrowing her eyes as she begins to walk up the middle of the bed towards the slumbering figure. "Mipsy will do as Mipsy wants, he is my pup, I will take care of him."

Kreacher follows swiftly on her heels, his bare feet sinking into the soft mattress—he almost trips over himself when Mipsy halts abruptly to send him a warning glance. He wrings his hands together, looking upon the sandy haired wizard with obvious disdain, "Master Regulus told Kreacher to help however Kreacher can…which _includes_ helping your miserable pup."

Mipsy takes the hand still holding the roll of bandages and props it up on her hip, raising her other hand and pointing a finger very close to Kreacher's long, hooked nose, "Now listen here—"

She cuts herself off when she hears soft sounds coming from just behind her, with wide eyes she slowly turns around and sees Remus's eyelids begin to flutter.

Mipsy drops the bandages onto the bed, the roll bouncing once and rolling towards the edge of the bed, unravelling rapidly. She gasps softly, and without thinking she vaults off the bed, "I need to go tell everyone that Mister Remus is waking up!" She calls behind her merrily, her cotton shoes barely making a peep across the hardwoods as she hurries out of the room.

Kreacher smiles to himself as he picks up the end of the bandages that is still on the bed, with a noise of amused triumph he begins to pull it back, gathering it all into a messy bundle. He then turns towards Remus and his smile falters, he was so overjoyed at having won the fight with Mipsy that he'd forgotten what they were fighting over.

"Mistress Walburga is turning in the afterlife," Kreacher mutters to himself as he begrudgingly edges closer to Remus.

The wizard is clearly awake to some extent, though frankly Kreacher does not care. The boy's eyelids are half-drooped and his lips have parted slightly. Kreacher shakes his head as he drops the fresh bandages beside the boy's arm. The boy winces as Kreacher lifts up the injured arm with one hand and starts unwinding the dirty old bandage.

"The things Kreacher does for the House of Black," Kreacher grunts lowly.

* * *

Cold fingers.

Someone is speaking but he can't quite make out what they're saying. Rough, weathered and thin fingers are on his arm—which is throbbing and he can't recall why.

Why is he so tired?

His eyes are open, at least he thinks they are, but everything is so _bright_ and there are little green men dancing across the blur of colour.

His throat is dry as sandpaper, and scratchily he manages to get out, "J—James?"

The cold fingers pause, but then resume their work, fastening the bandage on his arm; the owner of said fingers scowls in annoyance whilst they slowly lower his arm onto the bed. The short figure murmurs something to the approaching one and departs almost instantly.

Caramel and vanilla pours into the room, overflowing, and enveloping him completely.

A hand ghosts over his cheek, moving to then firmly cup it and the warmth from their palm floods across his face.

Other scents are now melding in, cinnamon, leather, lavender, honey and a few others he can't quite distinguish at the moment— they blend together and languidly drift into his nostrils. The smell surrounds him, engulfs him and he can vaguely hear them talking. He's so tired.

Their warmth lulls him back to sleep, and he floats away into the darkness. Dreaming of honey brown curls, caramel and vanilla.


	49. I Trust You

**Hello hello my lovelies.**

 **Some questions may or may not be answered in this chapter. Either way hopefully you all like it!**

 **Thank you all so, SO much for all your lovely reviews, they always make my day better *hearts***

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for my loves Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Tuesday, 29th May, 1979**

 **Undisclosed Location**

A figure swaddled in darkness stands facing the window, silent as a grave. He stiffens when the door on the opposite side of the room creaks open, the noise scratching at the insides of his ears. He catches a glimpse of the wizard cautiously approaching him in the window's reflection.

His expression remains placid, eyes flicking away from the other wizard, back out to the trees that are gently swaying in the warm light.

Summer is swooping in, engulfing everything in brightness, the vibrant colours bursting forth from the earth and painting its way across the sky.

"It appears a dead man has appeared to cast a shadow across my doorstep."

"Let's not play naïve now, Severus. I would appreciate if you saved that polished bullshit for your Dark Lord," the other wizard replies coldly. "I _know_ you followed me that day."

Severus remains silent, eyes fixed on a small brown bird hopping back and forth along a short branch, his ears just catching its joyful chirping.

"Nothing to say?" The other wizard sighs heavily, muttering under his breath as he enters and settles himself in the leather armchair in the corner of the room—a large stack of thick books is lined up beside it, and on the other side is a short table with a meagre table lamp on it.

Severus finally turns away from the window; he raises his chin, looking down at the other wizard through half-lidded eyes, cold dark eyes unflinchingly boring into the grey ones across the room.

"I put a trace on you a while back. It came in handy since I was unconvinced that you were dead," Severus shrugs.

"What? _Why_?" Regulus asks, his tone suggesting that assuming Severus had followed him was a stab in the dark, and that he was wholly unprepared for that assumption to actually be correct.

"The Dark Lord may not have cared enough to check and ensure that you had indeed departed from this world, but I did," Severus answers, slowly, narrowing his eyes as he did.

Severus takes several confident steps towards Regulus, his shadow falling across the other man.

"Then it appeared that I was right, so I followed you and found you _spying_ on that Order member...Michael or whatever his name was," Severus waves a hand dismissively.

Regulus does a marvellous job of smoothing over the surprise that is threatening to smear across his features, his eyes sparking with an indescribable emotion. He didn't think that Severus would so easily disclose that particular nugget of information.

Regulus leans back further in the armchair, regaining some of his composure. With a quirked eyebrow he says, "then you scampered back to your Master and told him everything."

Severus ignored his comment and swiftly continued on, "I wanted to ask you myself about what really happened to Grimmauld Place and where you've been hiding away."

"Why? Do you want to stop following a deranged, evil fucker and come over to the side of light and all that other shite?" Regulus asks dryly.

"You _defected_?" Severus queries lowly, the thought had obviously occurred to him, but until that moment he hadn't entertained the idea that it was **true.**

Regulus taps his finger against the chair's arm, pursing his lips before carefully replying, "not exactly."

"But you're staying with some of _them_?"

Regulus smirks, "you know I won't fall for that."

The other wizard's tone bristles along Severus's spine and he tucks his hands into his cloak to hide his clenched fists. Regulus's eyes follow the movement and one of his hands slides over to his own side—most likely readying himself to draw his wand if the need arises.

"How about this, why would you come here? Risking everything, revealing yourself to me."

"Don't know if I'm being completely honest...perhaps I was just looking for a familiar face or a friend after the last few days," Regulus responds reticently, a sliver of his true feelings peeking through. He clears his throat and his serene expression neatly fits back into place.

Regulus stands up, nodding curtly at Severus, "I shouldn't have come...I'll be taking my leave."

Regulus turns to make a hasty departure, his hand now in his pocket and firmly clasping his wand, when Severus's softly spoken question makes him halt abruptly.

"Aren't you going to ask that I keep the knowledge that you are alive to myself?"

"For whatever reason...I trust you, Severus," Regulus replies and then he strides out of the room, disappearing as quickly as he had come.

The unspoken questions—the ones he really wants to ask—lingers on the tip of his tongue.

 _Who is that girl that was with Lily that day in Muggle London? How is Lily doing?_

Questions that plagued him every day, desperately begging to be answered.

"Is she okay?" He murmurs, turning back to the window to once more drink in the nature outside, clinging to the miniscule amount of goodness that is afforded to him these days.


	50. Languid Kisses

**LOVELIES!**

 **Happy middle of the week! I know a lot of you were wondering what happened to James and when we'll find that out. I promise in the next chapter all shall be revealed. This chapter is kind of an indulgence on my part, lots of Remione goodness.**

 **This is a bit unrelated but I listened to Cherry Wine by Hozier a lot whilst I was writing this, in case anyone was interested.**

 **THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR REVIEWS. Thank you!**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Tuesday, June 5th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

 _I wonder how much of the future will change?_ The witch wonders to herself as she strolls down the hallway, humming absently. _Draco is meant to be born today in a year…but will he? Or will he never be born?_

A frown twists her eyebrows together in an uncertain knot, the thought that Draco Malfoy may never exist is a strange one, and she really doesn't know how to feel about it. Perhaps he will be born, but he'll be drastically different this time around.

 _There was goodness in him too,_ Hermione thinks, recalling how despite everything that had transpired between them, he didn't give them away _that_ day. How he'd fought alongside the other students in the battle of Hogwarts. How he'd tried to make amends after the war was over.

She really doesn't know how to feel about it all.

Thinking about Draco brings her to ponder the complex situation with Narcissa and Lucius. _I need to talk to Dorea about some things._

Hermione reaches her destination and a soft smile flutters onto her face, she runs one hand over the rough wooden surface of the door and uses the other to twist the doorknob.

She gently pushes on the door and peeks inside, her smile only getting bigger when she sees her wizard sitting up in bed grinning crookedly in her direction.

Remus had kicked back the cream sheets, one knee bent and his other leg outstretched on the cream sheets.

"What happened to the chocolate cake?" Remus asks, his smile falling away into a pout as Hermione joins him in the bed, snuggling into him on the side with his uninjured arm—the other one is almost fully healed, but she doesn't want to put any unnecessary stress on it.

"Mipsy distracted me with a bit of errant chatter and then she shooed me away whilst she bakes it," Hermione says.

Remus makes a low noise in understanding and drops a kiss onto the crown of her head, "thank you, love."

"It was my pleasure," Hermione smiles, tilting her head up and puckering her lips slightly.

Remus grins toothily before ducking his head down to claim her mouth, languidly moving his lips against hers.

He mainly uses his good arm to tug her on top of him, his hands delving into her honey brown curls and a low growl rumbles in his throat when her teeth nip at his bottom lip.

Remus sits up, and she readjusts so that she's straddling him, moaning softly when she feels his erection pressing against her core, she pulls back just enough to look at him, their breath melding together.

"Hermione," Remus murmurs, kissing her softly once, his hands moving down to grip her arse; his eyes are flashing amber and gold, but she catches the tightness in his jaw.

"What? Baby, what's wrong?" Hermione asks, her hands cradling his face.

He winces, scrunching up his nose and squeezing his eyes shut, "headache."

She tries to climb off of him, but he hugs her to him, carefully falling backwards. She sighs softly, but doesn't try to move again, resting against him whilst trying to not to put too much weight on him.

A comfortable silence settles over them like a warm blanket.

"Tell me something," Remus requests softly.

Hermione swallows, mind whirring as she thinks of what to say, one of her unruly curls falling forward across her face—Remus releases her long enough to swipe it back over her shoulder, kissing the tip of her nose before wrapping his arms around her once more.

"My parents are...were alive...back in my dimension I mean," Hermione whispers. Remus doesn't say anything, the pad of his thumb stroking her upper arm soothingly.

 _Though it was almost as if they were dead,_ Hermione thinks. She hadn't been able to restore their memories, so she'd just left them in Australia to live blissfully in their new life. The thought had previously occurred to her that they are alive and well in this dimension, but she knows that that part of her life has been sealed off.

Hermione clears her throat, her tongue heavy in her mouth as she continues, "I erased their memories to protect them, and when I found them after the war...my charm work was highly effective, so effective that I couldn't undo what I'd done."

Remus squeezes her tighter and the rope attached to the heavy weight that she had been dragging around for month wears thin and snaps sharply. Salty tears somberly march down her cheeks, and she burrows into Remus, the wisp of flame in her chest roaring and growing into a steady fire.

"When my Mother died my Father didn't know what to do with himself," Remus says reticently, Hermione sniffs loudly and tilts her head back to look at him.

"He always blamed himself for things that weren't his fault. He drowned himself in Firewhisky all throughout my childhood since he blamed himself for Greyback targeting me. He wallowed a lot in self pity Mum used to say...and he only really stirred himself out of it in my second year of Hogwarts." Remus exhales deeply, and Hermione presses her ear against his chest, listening to his strong, steady heartbeat.

"He saw that I had friends, and my Mother's insistence that he was not at fault seemed to finally break through all the liquor. He drank less, he tried, he really did try to spend more time with me and to be more involved."

"Tell me more about your Mother, Hope," Hermione murmurs.

Remus's deep voice slides over her, "she was a Muggle and even though she didn't know a lot about our world she still tried, and when I—I got bitten, she...she handled everything with such grace. She baked the best chocolate chip cookies, she threw her head back when she laughed, she detested the colour fuschia, she hated peas...she was just the best...then she got sick."

Remus rakes in a shuddering breath, his fingers gripping her just an oomph tighter. "She had leukemia, and Dad and I grew closer when we had to take care of the person who'd spent so long taking care of us…"

Hermione shifts so that she can place a quick kiss to Remus's skin, her tears flowing freely once more. Remus's pain is rocking her wildly, raging against her tiny boat in his all consuming sea of emotions—she is clinging to the mast with everything she has.

"Dad...he moved back to Wales not too long after she passed, he said that everything here reminded him too much of her, and that he needed to get away. He begged that I go with him, but I refused...I wanted to stay."

The following moments are tense and thick, neither quite sure what to say, but then soft syllables drop from Hermione's lips, "you were born in Wales right?"

"Yea, and we moved to England when I was three," Remus responds.

Trying to lighten the mood, Hermione teasingly asks, "is that why you talk funny?"

"Listen here, witch," Remus growls, staring at her in mock offense as his hands fly across her body, tickling her. Hermione's body instinctively tries to buck away, the laughter spilling out of her body uncontrollably.

"Remus Lupin!" She gasps.

His fingers still, "do I still talk funny?"

Hermione turns her head so she's looking into his amused hazel green eyes, "yes," she responds defiantly. Remus grins wickedly before he resumes his previous task, his good arm pinning her to him as his fingers dance across her skin.

Happy, joyous tears spring from the corner of her eyes, dissolving into a puddle of giggles.

Hermione twists and tries to tickle him back, but he just quirks an eyebrow, pausing in his assault and smiles victoriously, "sorry, love, not ticklish."

Hermione playfully smacks his stomach, hand moving to grasp his wrist sternly before it can attack once more.

Remus chuckles lightly, "I love you."

Hermione narrows her eyes at him, but the corners of her lips that are twitching upwards belie her irritation. Finally, a smile cracks her annoyed facade, happiness bursts onto her face like a ruptured dam. "I love you too," Hermione says, leaning up to claim his lips.

Hermione drinks him in, one hand moving up to dive into his hair, her nails lightly scratching across his scalp—a low groan purred out of his throat and she greedily swallows it.

With a soft sigh, Hermione reluctantly pulls away, pecking his lips once more before laying her head down on his shoulder as her limbs wrapped more securely around him.

Remus let out an exasperated sigh, and Hermione began to trace patterns across his skin. She knows he's irked by the proximity of the Full Moon. She feels her eyelids start to droop and before she knows it Remus's heartbeat lulls her to sleep. Her mate drops a kiss onto her curls, the smell of caramel and vanilla filling his nostrils as he follows his witch into a deep sleep.

Mipsy apparates into the room twenty minutes later with a decadent chocolate cake on a glass cake stand floating beside her, only to find both wix fast asleep, limbs entwined as they slumber, she shakes her head fondly and snaps her fingers—both her and the cake disappearing with a small pop.


	51. He's Lucky To Be Alive

**Hello my lovelies! H** **appy New Year!**

 **Thank you all so much for waiting so patiently for this chapter, RL is a bit hectic ATM so I'm trying my best to post a chapter weekly or bi-weekly this year when I can, it may be sooner or later than that depending on how things go. I'm really hoping to get a chapter out every week. I really am.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com (come and chat and ask me all the things x)**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

* * *

 **Flashback**

 **Wednesday, May 30th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

"He's lucky to be alive, Dorea," the tall, imposing man states, shutting the bedroom door behind him with a soft _click._

Alfred Pennyweather is a strange wizard, of great stature, spindly with arms that are slightly too long for his body, a perpetual frown on his face that was solemnly accompanied by a harsh line across his forehead. He has thin, skeletal fingers, there is grey hair sprouting from his temples only to disappear in a sea of chestnut brown tresses. An unsettling quietness lingers around him, and he is a generous but severe man—he has no time for frivolity or nonsense.

"Yes. I know that Alfred, that doesn't tell me anything about his current condition," Dorea replies testily, her hands on her hips and her shoe impatiently tapping against the Potter Matriarch hasn't been sleeping properly, she looks as if she'd aged ten years in the wake of her son's accident—puffy eyebags, bloodshot eyes, hair constantly in disarray,

Charlus sighs heavily through his nostrils, worry carving deep chasms across his features, he steps forward and wraps an arm around his wife.

There is a stickiness that clings to the night air: it is muggy and stale, and there is barely a lick of breeze to be found. As a result they are all left to swelter and melt, completely at the whims of Mother Nature—the cooling charms they'd been applying did next to nothing, only serving to deplete energy and magically exhaust them.

"He's going to need copious amounts of rest for the next few weeks—" Alfred states sternly, his dark, beady eyes locked on Dorea's as he continues, "—whenever the boy wakes you need to ensure that he doesn't try to do too much too quickly. He _needs_ rest. He almost died."

"You think I don't know that?" Dorea growls, attempting to take menacing steps towards her old acquaintance, but Charlus's grip on her tightens and prevents her from doing so.

"He'll be fine, Dorea," Alfred says a bit kinder. He grips the handle of his bruised, brown leather doctor's bag. "I left the assortment of potions that he'll need and a piece of parchment with strict instructions on how he'll need to ingest each one."

"Thank you, Alfred," Dorea says reticently, offering the man a smile in lieu of an apology, letting her full weight sag against her husband.

Alfred inclines his head respectfully towards the parents of his patient, "inform me of _any_ changes, and do not be afraid to call on me, regardless of what time it may be—even if it some ungodly hour—and I will be here immediately."

"Thank you, Alfred," Charlus says, repeating his wife's earlier sentiment of gratitude.

The wiry man lingers for a moment longer before his ropy legs carry him down the corridor and the grand staircase to the foyer.

Dorea works her jaw for a few moments, trying to find words, trying to express the emotions that are crashing around inside her, but she comes up empty.

Charlus pulls his wife closer, dropping a kiss to her hair, "he's going to be okay, Dee."

Dorea smiles faintly at the old nickname, one Charlus only used these days when he knows she's sad or upset.

"I know," Dorea murmurs, twisting around so she can grip her husband properly, letting his warm embrace comfort her.

The two parents stood outside their ailing child's room, simply holding fast to the other—desperately clinging to every ounce of hope that they had—and praying for their son's swift recovery.

* * *

 **Thursday, June 7th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

Lily's bright green eyes rove across the slumbering form of her husband: she scoots her chair closer to their bed, and she simply stares at him, as if when she looks away he'll stop breathing.

She reaches towards his forehead with the intent of brushing an unruly curl off of it, but her hand halts in midair, hovering for a moment before she instead moves her hand to cup his cheek—his warmth immediately seeping into the palm of her hand.

A swirl of breeze enters the room through the large window on the far wall, the half-open curtains fluttering to its will before they settle back into place.

Lily strokes his cheek tenderly as her other hand finds his closest one and she laces their fingers together.

"Evans," James mumbles, eyelids slowly dragging themselves open, and he narrows his eyes—everything is most likely a blur of colour since he doesn't have his glasses on—and they flick in numerous directions before eventually landing on her.

"Don't you mean, _Potter_?" Lily asks wryly, gently patting his cheek.

A goofy smile stretches across his features and he tries to reach for her, but Lily moves out of his grasp, she knows _exactly_ what he's trying to do; the ruddy idiot is trying to pull her in bed with him—he'd tried the same thing for the last two days and she is not falling for it again.

"No, you're still recovering," Lily says softly.

A weak chuckle leaves his lips, but it all too quickly turns into a pout and he reaches for her once again.

Lily rolls her eyes at his antics, but relents enough to stand up, lean over and chastely press her lips to his—her hair falls like a curtain around them, practically enveloping them in their own world.

James's hand slides up and cradles the back of her head, and he slyly attempts to deepen the kiss, but Lily pulls back.

"We can't," Lily whispers, bumping her nose against his, "no matter how much I want to. You need to get better, Mister."

James snorts at that, his hand moving instead to rest on her cheek, and he pauses for a long moment, as if trying to imprint her visage in his memory forever, "I love you."

"I love you too," Lily says, pressing her forehead against his.

Not for the first time since Harry, Hermione and Ron had come to their dimension, Lily found her thoughts wondering to the reality of their past, of their dimension.

Thoughts of James dying.

She presses her lips together, and she holds James an infinitesimal bit tighter, banishing the dreadful thoughts somewhere far away, for if she let them fester any longer she fears they may take over her.

"I love you," Lily repeats. _More than you may ever know_ , she adds silently. _More than you may ever know._


	52. One Can Almost Forget

**HELLO HELLO MY LOVELIES! I know it's been _far_ too long, and I'm so sorry about that!**

 **I really wanted to get this chapter out for Ron's birthday (March 1st, as I'm sure most of you know), but alas, RL got in the way. I am however, getting it out to you on Remus Lupin's birthday! Our wonderful, brilliant werewolf.**

 **Please leave a review, and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Saturday, 23rd June, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

Ron is nervous, he doesn't know _why_ he's nervous—they are family after all. Family that he's never met, family that he could only ever dream of meeting; mainly because until a few months ago, it had been _impossible_ to do so.

A shiver runs down his spine, and goosebumps scrawl their way across his skin when he hears, loudly, "Oi! Potter, what secrets are you hiding that my big sister made me make a wand oath?"

Ron has no idea _who_ the voice belongs to, and he wipes his clammy palms across the front of his jeans. It's ridiculous, why is he so darn anxious?

Ron hesitantly steps forward, glancing to his right over the bannister and down into the foyer: Dorea is warmly welcoming Molly, Arthur and what must be Gideon and Fabian Prewett—his Uncles, his deceased uncles, who died bravely fighting off five Death Eaters.

Ron halts at the top of the grand staircase, marvelling at the two wizards (he'd only ever seen pictures), and stifling a laugh when Molly lightly hits Gideon on his arm—clearly the vociferous declaration had come from him.

"What? It's true, what could possibly be _so_ big that I had to make a bloody oath, _and_ you refused to tell me when I did," Gideon shook his head, nodding politely at Charlus as the Patriarch took Gideon's cloak from him.

Ron doesn't wish to reveal himself just yet, so instead he leisurely begins to descend the stairs, and when he is about halfway, he catches Molly's eye.

The witch smirks, rubbing at her slightly swollen belly—she told him the news a couple weeks ago, she is pregnant again, with baby number six, but she keeps grumbling about how big she is this time, even bigger than she was with the twins. She also says she is craving pickles all the time, and spicy food, something that Ron quirked an eyebrow at—Ginny loved spicy food.

A pang tugs at his heart, thinking about Ginny always hurts. He desperately wishes he could see his sister again, if only to tell her how much he loves her. It's odd, but in a different dimension, she is still living her life, albeit without them. Ron shakes the thought away—pondering on the goings on of a different dimension, that he has no claim to anymore, is pointless—it only serves to fill him with longing.

A different thought springs up as he reaches the first floor, shoving his hands into the pockets of his navy blue trousers. _We can make it so that they grow up without war, without fear, without the death of their classmates, or their loved ones._

Ron freezes, suddenly feeling the urge to flee. The group of wix must have heard his arrival, because they all turn towards him.

"Right then—" the smile on Gideon's face slowly fades, and Ron gets a better look at him.

Gideon is a few inches shorter than him, there's a jagged scar that runs diagonally across the length of his face, his blue eyes are a startling blue—much like his own—there is a spackling of freckles all over him, but nowhere near as bad as Ron nor any of his siblings—Ginny's had been the worst. His hair is more of a rust colour, and threaded throughout is a heavy helping of coppery strands. The wizard is quite stocky, and he reminds Ron of Charlie in that regard.

"Bloody hell," Fabian whispers beside his younger brother, eyes wide.

Fabian is a stark contrast to Gideon: wiry, almost as tall as ron, his hair is just shy of his shoulders, but he's pulled the top half into a neat bun. His pale skin is barely dusted with freckles save for his nose, cheeks, and the tips of his ears. His blue eyes are much darker, like the dark recesses of the ocean, and there are faint, smile lines around his mouth.

"Hey," Ron raises a hand awkwardly in greeting, the nerves sparking, hissing that he should run as far away from here as possible.

"Molly…molly, _who_ is he?" Gideon asks, mouth agape, half-turning to his sister, but refusing to pry his gaze from Ron.

"It's a bit of a long story," Molly starts, faltering, shooting Ron a sympathetic smile, "I wish I could have warned you…but _they_ are very important, and the less people that know, the better."

Fabian slowly approaches Ron, pursing his lips, his eyes flitting about, and examining him: Ron raises his chin, straightens out to his full height, yet he relaxes his limbs, he will not crumble under Fabian's scrutiny—even if his heart is beating far too fast.

"You're _him_ , aren't you? You're the one that was with James and the others on that mission?" Fabian asks, his gaze almost unbearably intense, but Ron holds his ground.

The number of people that know the truth about the Golden Trio keeps growing and growing: the Order members that were there the day they arrived, Frank, Alice, Emmeline, Dorcas, the Marauders, Dorea, Charlus, and the Weasleys. That number is about to grow two more to include the Prewett brothers.

Rumours have been rampantly circling about the ginger haired boy since the ambush, most of which are wildly exaggerated, and improbable. The Weasleys sequestered a child away: he is the love child of Septimus Weasley (Arthur's Father) and some muggle lady, or that Bilius Weasley (Arthur's eccentric older brother) had carelessly impregnated a witch. There was even a rumour going around that he wasn't connected to the Weasleys (or Prewetts, but for some reason, none of the rumours hinted at him having any relation to the family in the slightest) at all, and he'd simply glamoured his appearance to throw the scent off of his real identity. However, there are a few that strike far too close to home.

Which is why McGonagall and Mad-Eye decided that the rest of the Order—whoever was not already in the know—would stay in the dark about the inter-dimensional time travellers.

"That'd be me," Ron answers, a sheepish smile on his face. "Sorry, should probably introduce myself, I'm Ron Weasley—your nephew."

Gideon and Fabian both whirl around to face their sister, befuddled confusion pointedly spreading its way across their features.

"I'm also from the future in another dimension," Ron adds quickly. Mentally cursing himself for not starting with that.

"Sorry?" Fabian's jaw drops, once more facing Ron, his brow deeply puckered.

"It's true," Molly says calmly, stepping past her brothers, stopping in front of Ron, and she holds her hands upwards—he bends at the middle so she can reach—and gently cradles his face.

Ron smiles softly, his hands finding Molly's stomach, and carefully places his open palms against her swollen belly. "I still think you're having a girl," he murmurs so only she can hear.

"Nonsense," Molly whispers back, dismissively patting his cheek.

"We'll see," Ron chuckles.

"I need a drink," Gideon says, holding a hand to his forehead.

"I echo that sentiment, a _strong_ drink," Fabian agrees. With a warm smile, Charles comes up behind the boys, places his hands on their shoulders, and then ushers the brothers out of the foyer, and down the corridor.

"Shall I fetch the others? I suspect they're all a bit peckish," Dorea asks, her fancy, well tailored black robes shimmering, and sparkling as she moves, her emerald studs glittering prettily in her ears.

"You'll find Mione in Remus's room," Ron smirks. Hermione's been sleeping in Remus's room as of late, leaving Ron and Harry to share a bed, and stave off their nightmares alone. Neither of them minded, they're happy Remus has found his mate, and more importantly, they are overjoyed that _Hermione_ is happy.

A breathy laugh escapes Dorea before she glides up the grand staircase, her robes fluttering out behind her as she goes.

Ron returns his attention to Molly, "that could have been worse."

"Are they anything like what you imagined?" Molly asks fondly, glancing over her shoulder when Arthur settles behind her.

"No. Well. I don't know what I imagined. Probably that they'd be like Fred and George, but they aren't. Not at all. They're completely different," Ron laughs dryly, allowing his shoulders to slump.

"I do feel a tad guilty that we didn't warn them, but we did promise, and they'll get over it," Arthur says, the first time Ron has heard him speak for the evening.

Molly snorts, "and then some. They won't quit asking questions, or humbugging you. I give you full permission to ignore any frivolity, or rubbish that they send your way." She releases Ron, one hand settling over his on her stomach, the other resting on her chest.

Molly is wearing a simple set of crimson, velvet robes, her hair is tied back in an elaborate updo, and the only jewellery adorning her, is her ruby engagement ring, and unassuming, white gold wedding band.

Arthur is dressed a bit fancier, with well cut black robes—that make him look quite distinguished—black, dragonhide shoes, and his wedding band proudly glints on his left ring finger.

The main difference in this dimension for the Prewett family—aside from Gideon and Fabian surviving the Death Eater ambush—is that Molly and Arthur didn't elope, and thus she was not unstatedly disowned.

That may have had something to do with Septimus Weasley not being labelled a blood traitor, despite his vocal disapproval of the Dark Lord. That is, until Dragon Pox claimed him a couple months before they arrived.

Ron's grandmother, Cedrella, is still alive, but mainly keeps to herself these days. She has no time for wars, and blood purity, and all that other hogwash as she once told her son. She would rather spend her days attending high socialite luncheons, dinners and events. (Ones that are free from strenuous conversations about Voldemort, and his followers. Which meant her circles keep getting smaller, and ' _good riddance,'_ she would sneer with her head held high.)

Also, in spite of his endless fascination with Muggles, Arthur does not work in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, instead, he works in the Improper Use of Magic Office. (Though one could often find him in the other office during his breaks, asking a myriad of questions with childlike wonder).

Small changes, that made such a massive difference, yet, to their core, Molly and Arthur appear to be the same people who raised him.

"This ought to be an interesting evening. Do you think we should tell them about Harry? Or just let them find out?" Ron queries, wrapping an arm around Molly's shoulders, and leading her towards the dining room.

"Let them find out, I do wish to see that look on Fabian's face again. He's always so bloody calm," Arthur chuckles heartily.

"Behave," Molly tsks, but a smile is tugging at her lips. "It _was_ rather amusing, I must say. His feathers never get ruffled like that."

Fabian _did_ in fact almost fall out of his seat at the dinner table upon seeing Harry, whilst Gideon had gotten over the initial shock, and instead was rolling with it.

"Anyone else? This is bloody brilliant," Gideon cackles, playfully shoving his brother—who is still as stone.

Fabian soon melts into a fit of laughter, his gaze turning to Ron, and disbelievingly he says, "I have a nephew. Well, _another_ one."

 _Soon you'll have a niece,_ Ron thinks to himself, picking up his stout crystal glass, and languiding sipping some of its amber contents.

"What do you want us to call you? Ronald? Ronnie?" Gideon jokes.

"Shove off, Gids, we're _obviously_ going to call him Ron Ron," Fabian says with a wide grin, his blue eyes sparkling with gaiety.

The nickname is far too close to an old one he'd had. _Won won_ , Ron muses sadly, thinking fondly of Lavender. She'd been killed in the worst way during the Battle of Hogwarts, mangled, and left a bloody mess by Greyback. Even if they'd broken up at the end of Sixth Year, he still thought of her as a dear friend, since they'd ended things amicably.

"Come off it. Both of you, you'll call him _Ron_ ," Molly scolds her younger siblings, waving her wand, and sending stinging jinxes at them both.

Ron learnt more about the Marauders's exploits during that dinner; Gideon had still been at Hogwarts when they first attended, and in a way he'd taken them under his wing. Though, they were 'mischievous little rascals' as he affectionately called him, and they far surpassed their mentor with their elaborate and creative pranks.

The events from a month ago seem to be a distant memory as the massive group of wix dines, and jokes, and shares a moment as close to perfect as it gets.

Dorea lightheartedly teases James about grandchildren, and the animagi almost chokes on his Elf wine, and Lily happily rubs his back before patting his cheek.

Hermione and Remus hold hands under the table for the entire duration of the meal, and Molly keeps fussing at Harry's hair, "it needs cutting, it's covering your eyebrows for goodness sake." To which Harry protests, he wishes to grow it out he says.

Sirius leans back, and focuses on throwing artful verbal jabs at Gideon, who gives back as good as he gets.

Fabian, Arthur, and Charlus are in a heated discussion about the Wizengamot: Charlus has a seat on it, but with the state of things he refuses to attend their gatherings, " _I left my job as an Unspeakable, Arthur._ " (Ron didn't know you _could_ stop being an Unspeakable, and he doubts Charlus will share the details of his resignation.) Fabian has been offered a position as the new representative of the Prewett family, but he has yet to accept their invitation, and Arthur himself is in a similar position to his brother-in-law.

Ron's focus however, is drawn away by something else: Regulus has been silent for most of the meal, most likely feeling left out amongst the large den of lions (with the exception of Dorea of course, alas she is on the far side of the table from him).

"You alright, mate?" Ron asks quietly, and Regulus stiffens, but swiftly relaxes—tugging a impassive shield down. The Black turns a key eye on Ron, curiosity poignant in his grey orbs. Ron and Regulus have had little to no interaction up until this point, so he can see why the wizard has his reservations in speaking to him.

Regulus works his jaw for a few moments, but then leans into Ron and replies, "I don't know why I'm _here_."

Dorea had dragged him downstairs earlier, insisting that he join them for their dinner party (the only occupant of the house who is missing is Emmeline, and she is spending a couple days at Frank and Alice's—much to Harry's obvious disappointment, and Ron thinks if one of them doesn't do something soon, he may have to intervene).

Ron shrugs, "it's cause you're one of us."

" _Am I?_ " Regulus asks softly.

"Yupp, we claimed you…well, to be more succinct, we claimed each other. You deserve to be here just as much as the rest of us," Ron states, placing his drink down on the starch white tablecloth, his electric blue eyes meet Regulus's, and there is nothing but blatant honesty shining in them.

"Dunno how I feel about being ' _claimed_ '," Regulus says with a wry smile, brushing a hand down his velvet, black robes, smoothing them down neatly.

"Regardless, again, you're one of us," Ron repeats, and this time, without protestation (and in spite of his slightly doubtful expression) Regulus respectfully inclines his head in the ginger's direction.

It's a step, a small one, but with it comes boundless potential.

* * *

 ** **Wednesday, June 27th, 1979****

 **London, England**

 **Killian's Tattoo Parlour**

"Son of a bitch," James curses loudly, gritting his teeth together, torn between looking, and averting his gaze entirely.

Lily rolls her eyes, flicking her long hair over her shoulder, and adjusting her grip on James's other hand.

"My other one didn't hurt anywhere near as much as this," James whinges.

" _Bollocks_. The other one is massive, James," Lily scoffs, raising her free hand, and staring at the fresh ink—she'd already applied healing charms—and how it moves and crackles across the inside of her wrist.

"Mine didn't hurt that much," Lily says with pursed lips and a quirked brow.

James narrows his eyes at her, " you don't have to look so incredibly smug you know."

Lily's only response is to shoot him a dazzling smile.

They are currently in the middle of getting matching tattoos, and they placed them so that when they hold hands, their tattoos will touch. Killian rolled his eyes at the adorable sentiment, but began to ready his equipment.

" _You're lucky that they aren't that big, Lily, and that I like you two. We're solidly booked all week, and this is my only break for the day._ " Killian said when they strolled in earlier.

Killian stays under the radar for the most part, tattooing Muggles, Wizards, Witches, and even some magical creatures, more so Beings than Beasts though.

The Parlour is black with splashes of white, and pops of blue, well lit in the back rooms where the tattooing actually happens, but the entrance area is normally only lit by the outside through the grand, glass windows out front, (which Killian had strengthened with numerous charms and anti-burglary spells, they are in a slightly sketchy area after all) and the streetlamps outside on an evening.

Killian's body is littered with tattoos, but he refuses to put any on his neck or above, it's some weird rule he has.

Pale eyes, dark hair, his light brown skin has an almost golden, coppery tint to it, he's average height, and he's a nimble, sprightly wizard, who _cannot_ sit still for two seconds. Unless he's working on a tattoo, then he's as still as a Panther lying in wait, hand steady, no movement rushed or unnecessary.

He's the best in the business, and he serves everyone, no matter who you are, or where you're from. The one rule the Parlour has, is no fighting within its doors, and it's a rule that is _generally_ abided by.

There are of course a few exceptions: a Veela and a werewolf got into it a couple weeks ago, and Killian has yet to replace the shredded wallpaper on the adjacent wall when you first walk in, honestly, he can't be arsed.

Killian straightens out, lifting the needle from James's skin, narrowing his eyes as he peers at the tattoo, tilting his head this way and that. "I think I'm finished."

James cranes his neck to glance at it, without moving his hand, "really? Can I look at it?"

"Go ahead, mate," Killian smirks, "want to tell me why you got a lighting bolt of all things?"

"Nope. It's a secret," Lily giggles, leaning down and dropping a quick kiss to James's lips.

"Whatever, I'm going to take a nap, still got plenty of work to do later," Killian yawns, scrunching up his nose as he meticulous cleans up, whilst setting up for his next client.

"Appreciate you seeing us today," James says as he sits up—swinging his legs over the side of the reclined chair—properly getting a look at his new tattoo for the first time.

The tattoo crackles, sparks, and practically jumps off of his skin: it's such detailed, intricate linework—the electricity is itching to jump off his wrist, and slam into the ground with formidable force.

Killian gets up, stretching like a cat as he strolls out of the room, "see you lovebirds later, don't get killed and all that."

James presses his lips together, and Lily smile is a bit strained as she points her wand at James's wrist and begins to heal the reddening skin.

"How do you think Harry will feel?" Lily asks, her voice barely audible, her bright green eyes studying James carefully.

James sighs, tugging her into him, "honestly? No idea."

* * *

"Y—You didn't have to do that," Harry whispers softly, eyes glistening behind his wire frames. The wizard is a few feet away from Lily and James, as if part of him wants to come closer, yet there is something holding him back—firmly rooted in place, arms crossed over his chest.

Lily had dragged Harry into the Sun Room a few minutes ago—making sure to hide the inside of her wrist by keeping her arm close to her side—where James was already awaiting them.

The remaining crisp tinge of the prior months is entirely gone now, the heat coming in droves and clinging to their sticky skin. Which is why they have been avoiding the Sun Room around midday, when the sun is at its highest, and its hottest. Though, many a lazy afternoon has passed in the warmth of the setting sun, as they bask in its reddish-gold rays.

Charlus is beside himself with joy at how well all of his fauna is blossoming, and unfurling into gorgeous displays of bursts of colour. Their smell drifts into the house through the perpetually open windows (the inhabitants of the manor desperate for any breeze they can get), and perfuming their surroundings with their delectable aroma. Mipsy has taken to going out into the Orchard to gather some of the newly ripe fruit, baking decadent, delicious pies, not to mention making freshly-squeezed juice for breakfast every morning.

It is almost as if one can forget there is a war raging all around them. Almost.

"We wanted to," Lily says gently, shooting Harry a wide smile, her rows of white teeth on fully display, and she closes the distance between them.

The crimson haired girl slowly embraces Harry, and wordlessly, James follows suit.

Ever so quietly—slightly muffled as Harry's forehead is resting on Lily's shoulder—comes, "thank you."

James tightens his grip on the boy, and marvels at how different everything is now, and how one moment, irrevocably altered the course of their lives forever.

"Can I see them again?" Harry asks, and Lily and James pull back immediately—just enough to thrust their wrists towards him, in order for him to see them properly. As if in a foggy daze, Harry tilts his head, and with a feather-light grip, grasps Lily's wrist.

"Do you like them? We tried to replicate parts of your scar when we had Killian draw it up," Lily informs him, and Harry nods dumbly, sniffling.

"They're beautiful," Harry responds, the fingers on his other hand moving to trace the lines of James's tattoo; the harsh, yet impossibly soft lines, ending in sharp strokes that appear to be attempting a wild escape upwards along their forearms.

Earnestly Harry's head shoots up, and he bares his raw emotions through his eyes, and once more, he thanks them.

James smirks, stepping forward and again, engulfs Harry in a hug.

Yes, it is far too easy, far too easy to forget about the war. For now that is.


	53. Transformations and Nightmares

**HAPPY MAY my lovelies!**

 **I had so many things to say, but I can't remember any of it right now. Ah well. Did you guys miss me? I missed you lovely people x**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the storyline and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Saturday, June 30th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

"Harry! Breakfast is ready!" Hermione exclaims, pushing open the door to the raven haired boy's room. The witch comes to a sharp halt when her gaze falls upon the boy with the lightning scar, that is, at the sight of Harry James Potter rubbing his head along the length of his headboard. "What in Circe's name are you doing?"

Harry freezes, " _nothing._ "

Not even a moment passes before Harry continues to fervently rub his head against the headboard, but rather than maintaining a stance of adamant denial—because Hermione fixes him with a look of exasperation as she gestures pointedly at his head—he says, "I don't know. My head itches."

Harry is wearing maroon pyjama bottoms, but his chest is bare as he'd woken up in the middle of the night to peel his sticky shirt off of his body. The summer is truly sweltering and unforgiving this year.

"Please stop that."

Harry sheepishly complies, ceasing and desisting straightaway. His hand reaches over to his bedside table, and grabs hold of his glasses. As Harry neatly fits his glasses into place, he says, "morning, Hermione. Sleep well?"

"Like a baby," Hermione responds, crossing her arms over her chest and narrowing her eyes as her best friend begins to unconsciously scratch at his head; vigorously.

"Stop that," Hermione frowns, repeating her earlier command—with the exception that this time it is a tad callous.

"I can't help it," Harry groans, falling backwards onto his bed, and subsequently thrusting his arms haphazardly above his head.

Hermione sighs, slowly approaching his bed. When she reaches his side, she unfolds her arms, and gently sits on the plush mattress beside him—instantly sinking into its warm embrace. "It's probably a side effect of our animagus training…from what Lily tells me, it only gets worse the closer and closer we get to actually shifting." Hermione purses her lips, "James said we should shift on our own soon…otherwise any sudden movements might cause us to shift unintentionally, and we may get stuck for a while unable to change back."

Harry squints at her, one of his hands had travelled back down when she wasn't paying attention, and has resumed his enthused scratching. The only saving grace is that thankfully, it is nowhere near as intense as it had been. "That makes a lot of sense actually…yea, we should shift soon," Harry drawls, and then he asks, "do you think we're going to get any other symptoms?"

Hermione scrunches her nose up at the thought, "I _hope_ not." She could handle liking her meat more on the raw side in recent times, but if she starts scampering after small woodland creatures, she may very well lose it.

Yesterday, the Marauders had been playing a harmless game of catch—with Sirius being _far_ too into it—when Ron had walked outside and caught side of the ball. The ginger immediately broke out into a brisk run and nimbly intercepted Remus's toss to James. Ron caught the ball in his mouth, and it wasn't until after he dropped it into his hand that he realised what had happened.

Sirius was _thrilled_ , and joyously his arms shot into the air and he exuberantly yelled, "It's not just me anymore!"

Regulus had been watching the events unfold from his bedroom window, a gentle smile on his face. The boy had closed the book he'd been leafing through, and found himself intently following Ron's every move.

Ron felt a hot gaze on the back of his head, and curiously glanced over his shoulder, only to find Regulus Black staring at him. Ron raised a hand in greeting, but Regulus's warm expression dropped, and in the blink of an eye, he vanished from sight. Ron quirked a brow at the peculiar behaviour, but quickly shrugged it off.

Back in the present, Hermione tenderly places her hand over Harry's—the one that is still scratching at the crown of his head, thus stopping the incessant action. "Does this mean you're going to start grazing out in the front yard?"

Harry gives her a pensive look, as if he is truly considering her playful question. "No. At least I don't think so...hey, do you think we could go in search of some fresh fruit in the Orchard later?"

Hermione gasps lightly, delight blooming on her face, "I would love to."

Harry smiles, his eyes fluttering shut and a serene calm washes over him, "I can't wait."

Hermione pokes his ribs, and says, "for now, we have to get up and go downstairs for Breakfast. Who knows how much is left with that lot and how they scarf down food."

Harry pries open an eye, and he groans loudly, "that is a good point."

"Grand, now let's get a move on," Hermione says, standing up and brushing her wild curls over her shoulder.

Hermione's nose itches. The air tastes salty, and Hermione can feel a burst of magic building, building and building up inside of her. Something molten is coursing through her veins, her toes tingle, and _Merlin's beard,_ her nose _itches_. She reaches up to scratch it, when she sneezes involuntarily.

Flames of magic lick and curl around her, and Hermione's body begins to reform: ghostly fingers are caressing her skin as her limbs change. Her vision sharpens, and she can hear Lily talking to Ron outside the room—probably coming to check on them. Fur sprouts from her pores, and she can feel something grow from her spine—a tail.

Hermione shakes her head violently, the itch is still on her nose, and she tries to speak but all that comes out is a sharp bark. The sound starkly startles Harry, and before she knows it, there is a young Stag sprawled across the ground beside her.

The wolf cautiously lowers her rear to the floor, her head turning to watch her tail swish across the hardwood. Another bark, this time it's an excited one. They shifted!

Ron and Lily enter the room a few moments later, and stumble across the two newly shifted animagi—both stuck in their other forms, and unsure how to shift back.

"Well, this is unexpected," Lily gapes, and Ron leans against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest.

"Does it look like Hermione is glaring to you? It looks like she's glaring," Ron says gleefully.

"Who's glaring?" A voice behind Ron asks (it came from a drowsy Regulus, who is currently rubbing the sleep out of his eye). The ginger practically jumps out of his skin, and an explosion of magic erupts from him. The tall youth disappeared, and in his place is a Pointer Dog: the white dog has massive patches of reddish, almost coppery patches of fur—the colour is also splattered and speckled across most of the white.

If wolves could grin, Hermione would have a shit-eating one on her face right now, instead, her muzzle opens widely as she yawns.

Lily bends down beside Ron, and he begins to avidly lick her face. The witch giggles as she rubs behind his ears before she straightens up. The dog looks at her for a brief moment, but then cocks his head to the side. He barks onces, and then trots past Lily and heads directly for Regulus.

"What?" Regulus inquires, hand in his hair, gazing down into the dog's earnest, electric blue eyes.

The dog lets out a soft bark, and steps into Regulus, rubbing his head against the boy's leg.

"Aw, look, he _likes_ you," Lily hums knowingly, winking suggestively at Regulus. The witch whistles softly as she turns away from Regulus and his furry companion and properly steps into Harry's room. "Now, what are we going to do about you two?" Lily asks kindly, placing her hands on her hips.

Lily squats down in front of the two animagi, her hair falls forward over one shoulder and exposes the right side of her creamy neck—her doe tattoo is currently peering at the two of them curiously, shifting from foot to foot, its tail twitching as it did so.

Lily's black leather pants make that creaking, scrunching noise that is unique to the material as she settles into place, and she twists one of the rings on her right hand as she stares at Hermione and Harry. "I think we should call Harry, _Buck_ from now on," Lily muses, and the young Stag blows out a loud exhale of air whilst viciously shaking his head—only for one of his antlers to get caught up in the sheets that had been hanging off the side of his bed.

A light peal of laughter escapes Lily's lips, and she leans forward to untangle the fabric from Harry's antlers, "we are definitely calling you, _Buck_."

Lily turns to Hermione, whose tongue is hanging out of her mouth as she pants lightly, "now, what are we going to call you?"

Lily scoots forward, her fingers immediately diving into Hermione luscious coat and she eagerly rubs the wolf. A blinding grin is on her face as Hermione begins to lick under Lily's chin in response.

"I have to tell you, Mione, you sure are a pretty thing—witch and wolf alike."

Hermione's coat is the same honey brown colour as her curls, her eyes are a warm hazelnut colour that swirls with copper. There are darker patches around her eyes, and there is a stripe that is almost black in nature along the length of her left front leg.

Lily's fingers still, and pensively she says, "either way, you both need to calm down. We don't want you getting stuck for days. Peter—"

Lily voice withers instantly, her lips clamp shut, and her eyes quiver with unspoken emotions.

A few moments later, Hermione has shifted back into a witch, and her arms find themselves engulfing Lily in a comforting embrace.

Shortly, Ron and Harry have also calmed down enough to shift out of their other forms. Whilst Harry hovers, unsure as to whether he should join, Ron pats Regulus on the shoulder before crossing over to Lily and Hermione, tugging them both into him, enveloping them.

Hermione cannot find a single word of comfort in her vast vocabulary, and it grinds at something in her. It's like she's being ground into fine powder by a mortar and pestle.

There is nothing to say after all. Peter's betrayal is still somewhat fresh, it still stings, and Hermione doubts that shall change any time in the near future.

So instead of saying anything, Hermione merely holds Lily. Harry eventually joins them, and without a sound to betray him, Regulus creeps away; feeling well out of place.

* * *

 **Tuesday, July 3rd, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

Hermione's fingers play with the hem of her short, black nightgown—it's lacy, when she moves it swishes about, and it makes her feel incredibly pretty. She wriggles her bare feet against the hardwood, and her eyebrow twitches upwards.

Hermione doesn't know why she hasn't opened the door yet. With a soft exhale, the witch rests her forehead against the smooth wooden surface, and her free hand trails up the door only to come to a halt beside her head. Ever so gently, she taps the door with the tip of her index finger.

She doesn't know how he always smells like a roaring fire, peaches and honey. She doesn't know why he's waiting outside her door—quietly, not intentionally making his presence known.

(Why Remus hasn't asked what in Godric's name is she doing is nothing short of a surprise, but she doesn't allow her thoughts to linger on that. Though if she spends any more time with her head against the door he may ask if she needs her head examining.)

With a deep exhale, Hermione releases the hem of her nightgown, instead moving her hand to the brass doorknob. She twists the knob, steps back, and pulls open the door.

He's to the left of Remus's door: languidly stretched out on the floor, one knee bent with his arm limply resting on it, his back up against the wall, his head is tipped to the ceiling, and his eyes are closed.

"Nightmare?" Hermione asks gently, slipping out of the room, and tiptoes over to him. She brushes her fingers across his head before she kneels down in front of him. Cautiously, she places her hand on the calf of his outstretched leg. Ron's eyes fly open, electric blue irises flashing. Air puffs robustly in and out of his nostrils for a moment as he gathers his wits about him. He _knows_ it's her, but terror and adrenaline is still pumping through his system.

Ron's jaw clenches, and he nods an imperceptible amount, his other hand shakily reaching out to cover hers, and his fingers partially lace through hers.

A potent shot of guilt strikes the witch and she suddenly feels like an awful friend; she's left Harry and Ron on their own for _weeks_. Ron and Harry assured her that it was fine if she slept in Remus's room from now on, they could manage on their own. _We'll be fine, Hermione. I can promise you that._ That being said, she shouldn't have abandoned them all at once.

"Where is Harry?"

Ron smiles faintly, and she can see the fright begin to trickle out of him, "I was playing Wizard's Chess with Charlus until about an hour ago, and when I got upstairs, Harry's room had locking and silencing charms thrown up—he and Emmeline slipped upstairs a while ago...and well, I guess you can figure out the rest."

Ron shifts slightly, rolling his shoulder forward and Hermione's gaze dips to their entwined fingers, and her vision blurs until their fingers become a shapeless blob, surrounded by sea of navy blue—Ron's shirtless, but he is wearing navy blue pyjama bottoms. "So I went to sleep in my own room...and well, I fell asleep for all of five minutes before I was up again. Your room was closer—I just wanted to be...I don't know."

Ron abruptly cuts himself off, averting his gaze to stare past her off into the distance. Hermione's eyes flick back up to his face, and in an instant she can decipher how he's feeling. It is strange, yet oddly comforting that she can read the subtle changes in Ron's expressions and know exactly what they mean.

Hermione's other hand grips onto Ron's forearm—of the arm propped up on his knee—and softly she asks, "do you want to sleep here, tonight?"

That draws Ron's full attention back to her, and the only indication that he'd truly heard her was his brow stitching together in pensive ponderation.

Warily, the words hesitantly sliding off of his tongue, Ron asks, "what about Remus? Won't he mind?"

Hermione gnaws on her bottom lip as she considers his question. He shouldn't. He wouldn't. _Would_ he? Surely, he would understand.

"If he has a problem with it, then we can go and sleep in my room, tonight."

Ron's expression instantaneously droops, and she can just see the protests forming on the tip of his tongue, "you don't have to—"

Hermione hastily interjects before he can say another word, " _yes_ , I do, Ron," Hermione says, an insurmountable mountain of obstinacy surging inside her, her facial expression daring her to challenge her, whilst her fingers tighten their grip on his.

"Remus won't mind if I'm gone for one night, besides, you are my best friend, Ronald."

She can see that she is swaying the ginger, persuading him to see past his inherent self-perception that in some way he is being a burden. She detests the thought that in his nightmares, Ron is never _good enough_ ; Ron's night terrors are always him failing to save the ones he loves due to his inadequacy—it had taken Hermione and Harry months after the war to draw that out of him.

"It was so much worse tonight, Hermione," Ron admits, his voice trembling, and his lip wobbles before his head falls forward.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Hermione murmurs, stroking her thumb back and forth on his forearm.

Ron shakes his head. That means it must have been ghastly, and it breaks her heart to see her brave, _strong_ friend look so feeble and broken.

"Come on, let's get to bed," Hermione urges kindly, pushing up onto her knees, and in a fluid motion she stands up, but she's half-bent at the middle as she maintains her hold on him.

Ron shifts his head just enough to peer up at her, reminiscent of a scared child in that moment, "are you sure?"

"Positive," Hermione swears, ducking her head just enough to press a chaste kiss to his temple. "Now get up off your arse, I'm sleepy."

Until she says the words, she doesn't realise how true it is. A yawn unwittingly escapes her lips, and both of her eyes briefly close from the force of it.

Hermione makes a show of tugging on him, and with a flimsy attempt of a smile, Ron repositions himself, and leverages himself into a standing position. Hermione steps into him, her arms sliding around his abdomen. Ron hesitantly reciprocates the notion, his chin resting on her head.

"It's okay now…you're safe, Ron. I'm here," Hermione says into Ron's chest, and she can feel her words reverberate through him, and Ron non-verbally responds by gripping her just that much tighter.

After a few minutes, they part, and Hermione to quietly guides Ron into Remus's room.

Hermione is surprised to find Remus still awake, the candle on his bedside table alight. Remus has one hand behind his head, and in the other is a small novel that seems to have captivated him entirely. Remus is wearing black boxers, but he looks to be nude as his body is partially obscured by his Prussian blue sheets.

Remus sticks his thumb in his book to mark his page before he lowers the book into his lap, and he quirks a brow, "what's going on? Is something wrong?"

Hermione climbs into the bed, and crawls towards her boyfriend until she is right beside him. When she reaches him, she sits back on her haunches and opens her mouth as if to speak, but falters. What if he really _did_ mind?

"I can go back to my room, Mione," Ron says reticently from the foot of the bed, and her head whirls around with furious rapidity.

"Ronald."

"I'm clearly missing something," Remus frowns, flipping his book open for as long as it takes to make a mental note of what page he is on before he places it beside his candle on his bedside table. The werewolf sits up, folds his hands in his lap and glances in between two thirds of the golden trio.

"I had a nightmare," Ron mutters sheepishly, roughly rubbing his hand across the back of his head.

Remus's eyes widen in understanding, and as if there is some unspoken time limit, Hermione blurts, "and he wants to sleep in here tonight."

"Oh," the syllable falls from Remus's lips with no outward indication of what could possibly be running through his mind.

"Seriously, Mione. I don't want to impose," Ron sighs, wincing. "Sorry, Remus—I'll get out of your hair." Ron turns to leave, but Remus's loud proclamation stops him dead in his tracks.

"You can sleep here."

You can visibly see the tension exit Ron's body as relief swallows him whole. Ron unhurriedly faces them once more, and there is a calmness that has taken a hold of him now.

It takes the three wix longer to adjust themselves into a comfortable arrangement than it should, but eventually they figure it out. Hermione is sandwiched in between the two wizards—who had exchanged hushed apologies as their limbs bumped and tangled with each other in their efforts to settle down.

However, it takes no time at all for them to all drift off, and this time, none of them are plagued with gruesome images of loved ones dying in the worst ways imaginable. This time, Ron dreams of the same grey eyes and dark hair that had previously featured in his night terror, but this time, instead of listlessly staring dead ahead, they are alight with amusement, and a wry smile dances across their owner's face.

It's the best Ron has slept in weeks.

* * *

 **Monday, July 9th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

 **Full Moon**

The air glistens with magical residue, the Moon is a radiant sphere in the inky sky, and the stars softly twinkle. There are spurts of breeze here and there, but for the most part the night is still.

A flurry of movement, the sharp sound of twigs snapping under hooves and paws, and an avid howl. The group of animals comes to an abrupt stop in the middle of a clearing, all looking to their _Alpha_ , their unsealed pack bond pulsing all around them. The deer are off to one side, the two stags shifting from hoof to hoof in front of the smaller doe. The Grim and the Pointer dog are playfully rolling around in the grass, occasionally letting out excited barks.

 _Moony_ nuzzles his snout into the neck of the honey brown wolf beside him. The wolf and the man are happily in equilibrium with each other; the wolf's usual unrest that prods at the back of the man's brain has quieted—he can only imagine it is due to him finding his mate. The transformation was also far less painful tonight, and the man thinks that came as a result of having more pack members surrounding; they are stronger together even in spite of their unsealed bond.

The female wolf turns a hazelnut and copper eye on him, and faintly the man thinks that the pack is vulnerable as long as their bond remains unsealed.

A sharp bark from the Grim draws the Alpha's attention, and thoughts of unsealed bonds get lost in a sea of primal instinct. It takes up far too much energy to try and keep a cognisant line of thought.

The Grim and the smaller dog excitedly bound away, and the wolf's limbs move of their own accord, paws flying across the ground as he elatedly pursues them. The werewolf and animagi sprint through the Orchard for the entire night, the moonlight peeking through the trees and gleaming across their coats. They chase each other around and around, leaping here and there, until, they eventually tire. Fatigued, the pack drops onto the grass on the outskirts of the Orchard, huddled together—some of their limbs overlapping—and slips into the welcome land of dreams.


	54. Carefree Summer Days

**Happy Thursday everyone!**

 **This chapter is the longest one yet for this story. Part of me wanted to break it up, but it kind of felt right to leave it as is since it all ties back with the chapter title.**

 **Someone thought that Hermione detested the fact that Ron had a nightmare in the last chapter. She was upset with herself, not with Ron. Not in the slightest. I may not have made it as clear as I should have? If I didn't then I can go back and fix it.**

 **Please, _please_ leave a review and let me know what you think.**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the storyline and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Thursday, July 19th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

A noise below the witch draws her attention, and a smile graces her face. The frosty haired witch is comfortably situated in one of the trees on the outer edges of the Orchard.

She doesn't know why, but she's always found it easier to think from higher vantage points: she'd been climbing trees and scaling trees for as long as she could remember—something that drove her Mother up a wall whilst Emmeline was growing up. " _Pureblood girls don't climb trees, Emmeline!_ " She only climbed more after that.

Emmeline regards the young ginger boy below her—he's picking up a soft quaffle—and he sprints back into the backyard, where a peculiar raven haired wizard awaits him; Harry Potter.

A peculiarity. A puzzle. A man she can't figure out, no matter how much she tries. Every time she thinks she has, he surprises her.

A lithe figure calls out to Harry and the two balls of unruly energy running in circles around him. Emmeline turns her attention to the source of the noise, and smiles gently; Ron Weasley.

The ginger haired man is shirtless, and is wearing a pair of loose, light grey shorts, and her smile flickers briefly as she catches sight of his numerous scars. Attempting to think of happier things, she absently considers Ron's pale legs, and thinks perhaps he should find some sun cream or use a spell so that he doesn't burn. It is a scorcher of a day, and the sun is mercilessly roasting everything it can.

Ron makes more sense to Emmeline, although, she hasn't had the chance to interact with him as much as she would like. Ron is loyal, brave, protective as hell, stubborn, and a tad rash, but he can also be level-headed, and his knack for strategy puts the rest of them to shame. At least, that's what she's been able to garner from their limited interactions.

Ron reaches the group, and hands an ice cold glass of water to each boy, who both eagerly accept the glasses, and greedily gulp down the clear liquid. Harry leans over and says something to Ron, and a moment later Ron playfully shoves Harry whilst he cheerily replies; she can see their lips moving, but she can't make out what they're saying from here. Ron then plucks his own glass out of the air from beside him—he'd levitated it behind him so he only had to make one trip.

The tall wizard jerks a thumb over his shoulder, taking a sip of his water, and Harry shakes his head with a broad grin on his face before he claps Ron on the shoulder. Bill holds his empty glass up to the two older wizards, and begins jumping about excitedly on the balls of his feet.

Harry grabs the glass from him, ruffling the young boy's hair and then happily begins to chat with the ginger child. Charlie has stripped down to his boxers, and the child flops onto the ground before he rolls about on the grass—his own glass is discarded on top of his pile of clothes.

Ron hastily drains the rest of his glass, speaking as he hands it to Harry, who nods and turns back to Bill. Ron calls out over his shoulder before he jogs away from Harry and over to Charlie. When he reaches the boy, he scoops him off of the ground before throwing him over his shoulder, and Emmeline can hear the peals of joyful laughter from here.

Harry balances the two glasses in one hand before he waves his wand and summons Charlie's, stopping it in mid-air before it crashes into him. The raven haired boy tucks his wand behind his ear, and then grabs a hold of the floating glass.

Bill lets out an animated war cry of sorts before takes off in pursuit of Ron. Emmeline's insides melt into a gooey mess when Harry laughs heartily at the sight of his best friend and his 'younger brothers'.

Fondly, she watches as Harry strides with purpose towards the house. Part of her wonders if this is creepy; spying on the boy she is endlessly fascinated by, and as she does so, Emmeline absently plays with a small button on the front of her powder blue dress.

Perhaps it is because he constantly surprises her, and she desperately wishes he would let her in. They haven't talked about _that_ day, and the memory of it is still vividly imprinted in her mind. Emmeline captures her bottom lip between her teeth, and her mind drifts off to that day, just under a month ago now.

* * *

 **Flashback**

 **Tuesday, 22nd May, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

"Are you sure you're alright, mate?" A familiar voice asks, grabbing a hold of Emmeline Vance's attention. The witch is reading an enthralling Muggle story about a witch who exacts her revenge on all of her enemies. Normally Emmeline would ignore all outward influences and distractions when reading, but, Frank's voice sounds far too worried for her to continue to blissfully bury herself in a fictional world.

 _Ugh, and it was just getting to the good part_ , Emmeline thinks wryly, absently twirling a lock of frosty blue hair around her left index finger. She mentally takes note of what page she is on, before she places the book on the end table beside the loveseat she is currently curled up on.

The other voice is much softer, calmer, "I'll be fine. I swear."

"If you're absolutely sure…"

"I'm sure."

Emmeline recognises the other voice now, her lips part, and she begins to untangle herself from the grey knit blanket she'd loosely wrapped around her. _Harry._

Emmeline creeps out of the Sun Room, only to see Harry a few feet away—he's backing her—and Frank's brawny, retreating form.

The moment Frank disappears from sight, Harry's entire body slumps, and he drops the satchel that had been gruffly grasped in his left hand with a heavy _thud_.

"Harry?" Emmeline asks warily, moving towards him one noiseless footfall after the other, raising her hands slightly in front of her as she does so.

Harry whirls around, guarded eyes wide, and there is a haunted look about him. Emmeline freezes once she realises his wand is pointed right in between her eyes.

"It's just me, Harry," Emmeline says in what she hopes is a soothing tone, reaching up and gently pointing his wand to the right and away from her.

Emmeline steps into him, _slowly_ , sensing that _any_ sudden moves are not a wise course of action right now. The witch gently grasps his face, and instantly he recoils from her touch, but she doesn't give up—and now they are so close that their fronts are almost touching.

"Emmeline?" Harry asks, his brow stitching itself together as his wand arm falls limply to his side.

"What happened, Harry?" Emmeline inquires, ensuring to keep her voice low.

"I—I...don't know…" Harry trails off, his hands moving around to the small of her back, fisting in the excess fabric of her oversized band shirt. The wizard crumples against her then, and she emits a surprised exhale of air as she lowers them to the ground.

Harry is clinging to her, his body shaking, but he doesn't make a sound. He's screaming inside. He screams, and screams; his soul is _screaming_.

Emmeline pulls his head onto her chest, cradles it with one hand, and makes shushing noises as she uses her other one to stroke through his unruly hair.

Fear is pumping through her now. It is slick like oil, sticky like tar, and as black as a bottomless abyss. What in Rowena's name could possibly have happened?

She has no idea how much time passes before Harry pulls back, and with a feeble smile he begins to withdraw from her. Drying tear tracks are still glistening on his cheeks, and she tenderly wipes them away.

"Thanks," Harry says with a slight quiver to his voice, and he leans forward to press a chaste kiss to her own cheek.

"I didn't do anything," Emmeline murmurs, and Harry's smile grows.

"You did plenty," Harry shakes his head, sitting back on his haunches, and Emmeline's inner voice is loudly protesting and kicking up a fuss at his sudden absence.

"Are you going to be okay? Do—do you want me to keep you company a little while longer?" Emmeline asks, and she is almost positive the heat radiating off of her cheeks means that her entire face is a flushed a pleasant pink.

Harry silently gathers the satchel and his wand. "Sure," he says, but he doesn't meet her eye, his own cheeks have pinked a tinge, but his expression remains resolutely impassive.

They end up back in the Sun Room, sitting beside each other—but not touching—sharing her large, knit, slate-grey blanket, and she reads her book aloud to him.

Harry must have been exhausted—mentally and physically—because it doesn't take long for her voice to lull him to sleep. Emmeline closes her book, this time not bothering to check what page she is on (something that causes a twinge of annoyance later), and examines the slumbering wizard.

There are a few nicks and cuts on his exposed skin that she can see, he looks paler than normal, and the bags under his eyes are more ashen in hue, and much more pronounced.

Which leaves Emmeline with her earlier question, what in Rowena's name had happened?

* * *

With a sharp jolt, Emmeline swiftly exits the memory, and her hazel eyes flit over to the raven haired boy who had just returned from inside, a tall glass of water in hand—the glass is already slick with condensation, and some of the water is gathering on the underside of Harry's hand. Harry's head tilts back as he earnestly takes large gulps in an effort to quench his thirst.

In the back of her mind, she is reminded of a couple weeks ago when she slept in his room. They didn't do anything that night but share a bed, side-by-side, but not quite touching. The knowledge that he was right there beside her soothed her uneasy mind; lately she'd hadn't been sleeping that well, and when she errantly mentioned it to Harry, he offered to let her sleep in his room that night.

(They'd run out of Dreamless sleeping potion, which means they've all had to combat their night terrors without any magical assistance—Hermione has been working on brewing more, but they are in dire need of new potions ingredients; they've been planning on making a visit to an Apothecary soon.)

 _I think I've watched him for long enough now, plus I'm a bit peckish_ , Emmeline thinks to herself, and distractedly she shifts her position, and begins the descent from her little nesting spot.

Emmeline clambers out of the tree. A low grunt escapes her lips when she drops onto the ground, and with a content nod, she dusts off her hands before doing the same to the backside of her.

Whilst she is occupied, the raven haired wizard spots her, and without a word he hands his glass to his ginger companion before heading in her direction.

Emmeline spots Harry approaching her, and freezes in her task. A lock of frosty blue hair falls forward into her eyes, and anxiously her fingers twist into the light fabric of her skirt.

"Hello," Emmeline says pleasantly when Harry reaches her, lifting her hand in greeting.

There is a mischievous grin on the boy's face, and without warning he lightly grasps her slightly extended hand, and tugs her into him.

"Harry?"

She has to remind herself to breathe under his intense gaze, and she suddenly feels unsure as to what she should do with her hands. Emmeline is not the sort to unsettle easily, but when she's with Harry all reason and logic flies out the window. Emmeline almost chokes on her air when Harry nudges her nose with his. Quietly, he says, "you know it's impolite to spy on people."

The mischievous grin is back, and Emmeline is so shocked that she stammers out a flimsy excuse, "I was in my tree _way_ before you lot spilled out here with all of your ruckus and boisterous screaming."

Harry chuckles lightly, thus stealing Emmeline's breath away from her with the childlike joy on his face—he could not look farther from the broken man she'd comforted a little under a month ago.

This thing between them has been building for far too long, soaring into the sky only to tower over them and cast them in its thick shadows. Emmeline really wants to kiss him, so, she does. (Initially Harry takes a moment to reciprocate as he is caught rather off-guard by her bold actions.) She's curious, she wants to know if kissing him will be as good as she suspects it will be. It's better.

Across the way, Ron is ushering two rambunctious boys towards the back porch.

"But Uncle Ron—we want to play with Uncle Harry some more!" The boys whinge loudly, and Ron smirks. (Bill, Charlie and Percy had taken to calling the older wizards their Uncles as of late, and Molly had started to instruct them _not_ to do so, but Ron shook his head and told her they didn't mind. It was a lot easier than explaining to them that in another dimension, he was _their_ younger brother.)

"Uncle Harry is a bit preoccupied right now. I'm sure he'll be free to play later, guys."

The three gingers leave the witch and wizard alone to finally explore each other, the summer breeze tousling their hair and clothes, and the potent smell of peaches swirls around them.

Harry Potter is a puzzle, one Emmeline may never fully solve, but she thinks it will certainly be an adventure to try.

* * *

 **Tuesday, July 31st, 1979**

 **Harry Potter's Nineteenth Birthday**

 **Potter Manor**

Warm. Warmth encompasses Hermione Granger's body, or more accurately, her radiator of a boyfriend is emitting heady waves of heat, not to mention his body is wrapped around her.

Hermione begrudgingly pries open an eye, only to be assaulted by vibrant sunshine, "Remus…" Hermione mumbles blearily. A yawn escapes the witch as she tries to rouse her boyfriend.

Remus makes a low sound in the back of his throat, nuzzles his face into the side of hers, and then goes still once more.

"Love," Hermione breathes, smacking her lips together as she reluctantly opens her other eye. "It's Harry's birthday," Hermione hums, patting his forearm that is loosely thrown over her upper body.

"That's...nice," Remus gets out at a snail's face—his tongue heavy with sleep—stumbling over the syllables.

"Remus, c'mon, wake up," Hermione says, twisting in his arms so her nose bumps against his. Sleepily her werewolf's eyes flutter open, and she smiles.

"There are those beautiful eyes that I love," Hermione says, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

Remus's hazel eyes shift to molten gold, flecked with warm amber, "morning," Remus says as he captures her lips more securely, slipping his arms around her and pulling her up against him.

Hermione lets out a soft, giddy gasp in between searing kisses, and she slides her hands straight up his bare chest and directly into his hair.

Their kisses get rougher, Hermione's hands grow more insistent, and it isn't long before Remus withdraws himself from his witch—not fully as his hands are in her hair, but enough to silently communicate that they should stop.

"Remus," Hermione groans, lightly hitting his chest with the back of her hand as she rolls onto her back. "We've talked about this."

"We did, and I told you that I don't think I can control myself…you're _a lot_ ," Remus falters, and Hermione snorts before shooting him an unimpressed look.

" _A lot_?"

"Your smell alone is _intoxicating_ , Hermione," Remus tries to explain, shifting so that the length of his body is pressed against the side of hers, and she swallows audibly as she tries to distract herself from that fact. He certainly isn't making this easy, not by _any_ stretch of the imagination.

The pair had been intimate in a variety of ways, but they'd never gone all the way and actually had sex. The tables have turned slightly, Hermione wants to, and Remus doesn't: Remus says he isn't ready, especially since he can sense that _Moony_ is eager to claim her as his mate. Hermione's instant response had been a calm, matter-of-factly statement. " _What's so wrong with that? We_ _ **should**_ _seal our mate bond_."

" _It's something we can't take back, Hermione_ ," was Remus's defence at the time, his eyes burning gold and sprinkled with amber.

Remus Lupin is an increasingly frustrating wizard: he has no qualms with toying with his bloody lip ring in front of her—thus enticing her—or strutting around the house with little to no clothing on, but yet still he won't fuck her cause he doesn't wish to 'entrap' her in an irreversible arrangement.

It is an arrangement that she would happily 'entrap' herself in because she can't imagine a future _without_ him in it. She wishes to be with him—today, tomorrow, three months from now, thirty years from now, _forever_.

They _fit_ together, and they both know it, but the wizard still has lingering doubts. She knows there's more to it than he doesn't wish to force her hand. There _must_ be.

"We don't have to seal our mate bond...but we should at the very least seal our pack bond," Hermione says, her head falling to the side to look at him.

Remus's brow furrows at that, "I don't know if I can hold back—"

"Then don't fucking hold back," Hermione swears, abruptly sitting up, and twisting her body to face him properly.

Remus purposefully ignores her comment, and says, "I'm not sure how I feel about sealing the pack bond the first time we have sex." The wizard scratches his head as he falls onto his back, but he doesn't tear his gaze away from her.

"An unsealed pack bond isn't the best idea, plus this way, you'll have something else to focus on," Hermione says with an impassive expression on her face, but there's a light airy quality to her tone.

Remus purses his lips, clearly mulling it all over, and then his expression melts into a playful, teasing one, "I could have sex with James or Sirius to seal it—actually, I could have sex with _both_ of them."

Hermione's jaw drops, and she blankly blinks at a rather rapid pace as she tries to digest his witty jest. Remus removes his hands from her entirely, laces them together and tucks them under his head as he smugly watches the astonishment work its way onto her face.

To her credit, Hermione swiftly recovers from the shock, and with a look of pure determination and grit, she readjusts her position so that she is kneeling and her entire body is facing him. Remus sees the look, and the arrogant smirk on his face falters for a moment.

Hermione cocks a brow at him as she braces one hand on either side of him before swinging her leg over him, and before he can protest, she is comfortably straddling his hips.

Remus sucks in a sharp intake of breath, his eyes widening, and the gold in his eyes flashes intensely, "Hermione—"

Hermione leans forward and places a finger against his lips, a devious smirk on her face as she rolls her hips, "I think that's enough talking don't you?"

"Fuck," Remus closes his eyes, his jaw is clenched and his body is stiff under her as he tries his hardest not to react; most of him at least.

Hermione fiercely grasps Remus's face, her own eyes glowing a honeyed brown that shimmers with rivers of coppery fire, "Remus Lupin. I _want_ you. Now."

After a long moment, he asks, "are you sure?"

" _Yes_ ," she breathes, and her wizard's eyes fly open. It's like something has snapped, and he truly allows himself to let go as in one sharp movement his hands move from underneath him to wrap around her lower back and before she knows it she finds herself under him.

Remus removes his hands from under her, props himself up on his forearms on either side of her head, careful not to trap any of her voluminous curls underneath them. The wizard is hovering over her, so close that she can feel his body heat radiating off of him, but not close enough for their bodies to actually be in contact.

Remus's lips ghost over hers, and every time she leans up to press hers against his, he draws back just enough so that they lightly brush, but nothing more. The werewolf will truly be her undoing, but she finds that she doesn't mind, not in the slightest.

Remus swiftly pecks her lips, not giving her a chance to deepen the kiss before his face buries itself in the side of her neck, lazily placing soft kisses along its length.

Hermione's hands slip down in between them, and she grasps a hold of his still clothed length through his thin black boxers, and Remus instinctively nips at her creamy exposed skin—drawing a low gasp from his witch, who arches upwards so that her breasts brush against his torso.

If Remus was holding back before, all reservations go out of the window: the wizard lowers himself onto her, and he gruffly grabs her face before claiming her lips, and his other hand moves downwards and insistently tugs at the affronting bit of black lace fabric on her hip.

The witch and wizard hastily divest themselves of the scarce clothing on their bodies, and they both pause for a moment as they lay bare, skin to skin, against one another.

Remus wraps his hand around his cock, and hisses lowly. Hermione smirks and tenderly grasps his face, and she finds herself admiring his long, dark eyelashes.

"Sweetness, are you positive?" Remus asks, his eyes flicking up to hers, and she is utterly lost in the pools of gold.

"Yes," Hermione manages to get out. The air around them seems to grow hotter by the moment, and an all too welcome burst of breeze comes through the slightly open windows on the far side of the room. It only then occurs to Hermione that neither of them threw up locking or silencing charms.

Remus teases the tip of his cock in between her folds, and Hermione's eyes widen. The witch mutters the incantations under her breath; they are nowhere near as strong as they would be if she'd used her wand, but they would do for now, and she honestly could not be arsed to fumble for her wand on her bedside table right now.

There is tightness growing in her lower abdomen, like a wire being wound tighter each second until it gets so taut that it threatens to snap. Hermione holds her breath in anticipation, and Remus Lupin has the audacity to grin cockily at her before he slowly slides into her wet heat.

Hermione whimpers softly as he fills her, and her hands thrust upwards and fist into the sheets above her head.

Remus breathily swears, his head falling forward onto her chest, "I am such a fucking _idiot_."

Hermione didn't have the wherewithal to contradict him, to tell him that he wasn't an idiot, he had just had a massive lapse in judgement. So, instead, she secures her legs around his waist, somehow drawing him further into her.

Remus glances up at her, but his mouth moves to latch onto one of her taut nipples, and she stifles a moan as her head falls back, burrowing into the sheets as her back arches. She almost swears aloud when his mouth leaves her, and she raises her head to peer at him. The moment their eyes meet he inches out of her—so slowly one may even call it a cruel act—but not all the way, and as she opens her mouth to say something (she honestly cannot tell you what), he slams back into her.

Remus drives in and out of her a couple more times before he pulls out of her entirely. The witch is about to voice her complaints when he forcefully flips her over. Hermione's teeth dig into her bottom lip as he parts her legs, and tugs her hips backwards—now she is on her knees and her arse is in the air.

Everyone says Sirius is the dramatic one, but as Remus pauses—finding great pleasure in watching her squirm—and waits for the suspense to build to a breaking point, she can't help but think that perhaps they had pegged the wrong Marauder for that role.

Remus's hot breath sends tingles across her skin, and he moves leisurely, as if he has all the time in the world. He places a light kiss to her right arse cheek before his teeth quickly but harshly sink into her supple flesh.

"Remus!"

A low chuckle comes from the wizard, and then he withdraws himself again, and this time she doesn't have to wait nearly as long, because mere moments later, his tongue dips into her cunt. Simultaneously he grips her around the front of her things in order to keep her in place.

Spots begin to dance in front of her eyes, and she finds herself grinding against his mouth, and she swears that he is smiling at the uninhibited noises he is drawing from her.

Almost as an act of defiance, her face turns into the sheets and she bites down on a mouthful of fabric to muffle her loud cries.

Remus's tongue swipes along her heat in one smooth motion, and tiny sparks of electricity weave across her thighs, and the tightness in her abdomen somehow constricts even further.

His mouth leaves far too quickly, and he brushes his lips across the bite mark he'd placed on her arse earlier—she just _knows_ there is going to be a bruise there later, but frankly she couldn't care less.

Remus lines his cock up with her entrance, and without warning he slams into her once again, and his hands have a bruising grip on her hips as he moves in and out of her.

She doesn't know when it happens, but he stills inside of her long enough to tug her upwards so that her back hits his chest, and one of his hands slides across her sweaty skin so that he's lightly holding her throat, and a low growl rips from her lips.

Remus chuckles lowly, and his hand repositions itself so that he is gripping her jaw. Remus turns her face towards his, and for the briefest of moments their eyes meet, and then he's kissing her.

Remus's tongue swipes across her bottom lip seeking permission, and with a low moan her mouth parts and grants him access. Time seemingly stops as their tongue eagerly move against each other's, and Hermione is so lost in her werewolf that she doesn't realise that his other hand has slipped down the front of her abdomen; she doesn't realise until his fingers find her clit, and teasingly begin rubbing against it.

They part, and Hermione's hands find the mattress in front of her, and her head bows as Remus begins to piston in and out of her again—his hand continuing to rub against her bundle of nerves. Hermione is riding long, torturous waves and her walls clench around Remus's cock.

Hermione hears a dull popping sound, time crashes back into place, and they find a rhythm—albeit a wild rhythm, but a rhythm nonetheless.

Hermione is eternally grateful that she threw up those silencing charms as they are making quite a bit of racket with all of their grunts, groans, moans and breathless exclamations.

"Fuck, I'm close," Remus breathes against the shell of her ear as her legs begin to quiver. _Me too_ , she screams mentally, but she's seeing bursts of colour in front of her eyes, and the air is compressing down on them—there is a crackling noise that is sharply piercing her ears.

Remus pants heavily as his thrusts become more erratic, with no rhyme or reason to them, a grunt rumbles in his throat before tearing from his lips.

"Remus," Hermione exhales, and closes her eyes as she feels her own release mounting up inside her.

Remus rubs his cheek against the side of her head for a quick moment, and then ducks his head down to her right shoulder. The wizard's mouth hovers over her shoulder, still slightly at war with himself as he continues his sloppy thrusts.

"Do it," Hermione coaxes, and it must assuage any fears or reservations he has because moments later his teeth are sinking into her shoulder. Hermione winces as his teeth pierce her skin, but she doesn't linger on the stinging feeling that prickles across her skin before it slices straight down. There is a sore, aching that gathers in her shoulder, and wraps around the rest of the bones in her arm.

Remus does not let up with his ministrations, and soon Hermione tumbles over the edge right after him.

The taut rope in her abdomen snaps, her legs tremble uncontrollably, and Hermione's body instantly sags as she rides out her wave of bliss. Her mouth is open but no sound is coming out, and her eyes flutter shut.

Remus removes his mouth from her shoulder, and then the force of the bond smashes brutally into them; Remus's arms envelop Hermione as they both collapse onto their sides. Neither of them moves as the intangible strings that tie them to the other pack member grow hot, unbearably hot. The strings are almost visible, golden tongues that float through the sky almost languidly before they grow taut and with purpose they burrow directly into the witch and wizard.

Hermione's chest is ablaze, and the flames lick at the wound on her shoulder. The pair's souls are set ablaze, and through fire their pack bond is cemented.

Hermione blinks, and the strings fade into nothing, and all that remains is the warm feeling in the centre of her chest.

Remus slips out of her, and presses a kiss to her temple. Hermione makes a content, purring sound, and then she wiggles out of his embrace and rolls onto her stomach, crawling across the bed until her wand was in her reach, and she snatches it up off of her bedside table.

Hermione shifts onto her side, points the wand at her abdomen, and a pale blue light emits from the tip. Cold fingers spread out across her skin before seeping into her and travelling all the way down to the tips of her toes.

Hermione shifts back onto her stomach long enough to place her wand back from whence it came.

Hermione can't help but smile when Remus's arms encircle her and tug back against his front.

They both lay in pure bliss for a few moments before Hermione recalls what today is.

"We need to get up, it is Harry's birthday after all," Hermione hums, closing her eyes and drinking in the scent of parchment, freshly cut grass and spring showers.

"I'm knackered...can we stay here for a few more minutes?" Remus yawns nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck.

"Mmm, just a few..." Hermione trails off. All too quickly drowsiness overtakes her and plunges her into a dreamless sleep.

Almost two hours later, the couple strolls into the Sun Room, both dressed in soft, pastel colours. On their way over to the other side of the house, Remus had commented on what a remarkable job Hermione, Dorea, Lily, James and Ron had done.

Every inch of the ground floor has been decorated: there are powder blue and white streamers twirled together and hanging from the ceiling, a staggering number of balloons—all different shades of blue—bob about as the light breeze brushes past them, and the only reason they don't float away is because there are weights at the end of their silver strings.

In the actual Sun Room, the balloons have been released to float in and amongst the ceiling that is covered with an elaborate flower arrangement. Dorea and Hermione had worked together, and used quite a few spells to pull it off, but they had created a temporary wall of ivy that has delphiniums, larkspurs, snowy white tulips, and white gerbera daisies woven throughout it. To add to the magic of it all, glass bubbles containing gentle blue flames slowly twirl around the room—a few feet above Ron's head as to not collide with anyone.

The furniture had been pushed up against the far wall, to make room for everyone to mill about, enjoy some drinks and finger foods, all whilst pretending as if the war is a non-issue, and as if a madman would not gladly relish in seeing them all hang.

The Weasleys, the Prewett brothers, Frank, Alice, Marlene, Dorcas, Lucius, Narcissa, and all the occupants of Potter Manor are in attendance. It is a joyous affair, and even Lucius and Arthur are getting along—at least that is what one could infer from the fact that their banter is accompanied by warm laughter and friendly claps on the shoulder (a sight Hermione Granger _never_ could have imagined possible).

Hermione catches sight of the raven haired boy that they are all here to celebrate, and smirks at his expression. He's smiling, but inwardly she can tell that he's slightly uncomfortable with the spotlight burning brightly on him; especially since Hermione knows Harry hasn't had a birthday celebration quite like this before.

Hermione briefly recalls an exchange she had with Harry a couple days ago: " _Am I nineteen now? My birthday was right before we left our time...and it's only been a few more months since we've been here...so how old am I really?_ "

" _As old as you want to be," Hermione responded, "I would want to enjoy my youth and stay eighteen, but that's just my take on things—you can be nineteen if you wish. It's all up to you."_

 _Harry smirked deviously, "does that mean I'm older than you now?"_

" _I was a month away from my nineteenth birthday before we left, Harry."_

 _With a far too smug expression on his face, Harry said, "so in a couple months, you can turn nineteen_ _ **too**_ **."**

 _Hermione rolled her eyes, "you are utterly_ _ **ridiculous**_ _."_

Back in the present, Hermione tiptoes to kiss Remus on the cheek, and is about to let him know that she is going to go over to Harry, when his warmth leaves her and she catches sight of him being dragged off by James; the wizard has a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and Hermione shakes her head. Remus mouths his apologies, and Hermione blows him a kiss before she heads towards Harry.

"It's unfortunate that we haven't been afforded the privilege to interact much since your arrival." Hermione catches the end of Minerva's statement as she saddles up to Harry, Minerva, Dorea and Emmeline.

"It is rather unfortunate, seeing as you were always one of my favourite teachers in school," Harry remarks. The wizard notices Hermione, turns to her, and shoots her a heartfelt smile before he steps into his best mate and bestows a swift peck onto her left cheek. Harry is about to pull away but Hermione wraps her arms around his neck and draws him in for a tight embrace.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Hermione murmurs, and Harry wraps one arm around her waist—the other is holding his pint of butterbeer out to the side as to avoid spilling any on her airy, dusty pink coloured dress.

"Thanks, Mione," Harry says, in a warm, buttery sort of way that makes her feel like she's come home, but before he pulls away, he says, "did you do what I think you did this morning?"

Hermione's eye twitches. Then, due to her keen hearing she catches a loud snort that comes from across the room, and she instantly knows that it came from Sirius. The animagus is going to be bloody insufferable from now on.

Despite her prior knowledge that the other pack members would also feel it as they sealed their bond, she hadn't truly allowed herself to ponder on how they would all react.

Not wanting to fully release Harry as of yet, she slips an arm around his waist, hugs him sideways, and gives her undivided attention to the three witches Harry had been conversing with.

She cordially greeted all of them, and a soft smile brushes her features when Dorea sends a quick wink her way.

In her peripherals Hermione spots Ron merrily making his way over to Sirius, James, and Remus. _That can't be good_ , she thinks, and as she is about to attempt to eavesdrop on their conversation, Minerva addresses her.

"Dorea has told me all about you, Miss Granger...I must say, it is quite tragic that we have not had the opportunity to converse properly before now," Minerva says, the corners of her lips twitching upwards as she clasps her hands together in front of her.

Hermione knows that Dorea invited Minerva as she is the Potter Matriarch's distant relation, but also because she wishes someone on the inside of Hogwarts; someone that they _trust_. That being said, Minerva understands _exactly_ why she was invited today, and she clearly does not have any qualms with it.

Unbeknownst to most others, Dorea and Minerva have been communicating quite frequently, and Dorea has had more than enough time to explain—in rich detail—what Albus Dumbledore has been up to since the Golden Trio arrived. Minerva almost choked on her tea when Dorea informed her of her duel against Hogwarts's Headmaster—the duel that she had _won_.

Minerva McGonagall is a beautiful young woman with inky black hair, fine features, and green eyes that one gets lost in the depth of—they are the colour of an evergreen glade that has sunlight filtering through it. The witch also appears to be wise beyond her years, which does not surprise Hermione in the slightest. She is wearing simple yet elegant emerald green robes, with long sleeves that have slits along the length of them that expose her arms as she moves them.

"It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance in this time, Professor," Hermione says, inclining her head politely.

Minerva's eyebrows rise slightly, and amiably says, "you need not call me, Professor, Miss Granger. I insist you call me, Minerva."

"HERMIONE, YOU KNOW WHAT? YOU SHOULD CALL HER MINNIE, SHE LOVES THAT!" Sirius bellows from across the room, and Minerva's eye twitches at the outburst. Silently she turns to Dorea as if asking permission, which the witch gives with a bemused smirk.

"Excuse me, it would appear that one of my former students requires my attention," Minerva smiles tightly before she whirls around and storms towards the corner of the room where the Marauders are gathered (whilst they had been chatting, Regulus had joined the boys).

Ron sees the irate witch marching towards them, his smile dies, and he tugs on Regulus's sleeve thus bringing her to his attention. The two wizards hastily slip away and make a beeline for the opposite side of the room where Lily, Alice, Frank and Narcissa are gaily conversing.

Dorea saunters after Minerva, whilst maintaining a healthy distance as to not be caught in the crossfire. She is not going to intervene, she merely wants to get a better view of the proceedings.

"This is bloody brilliant," Harry says, eyes alight with wonder as Minerva twists Sirius's ear and berates him on his manners, ' _you ought to have_ _ **some**_ _level of decorum, Sirius Black!_ "

Hermione's response is a low hum, and it only then strikes her that Emmeline is also here. _I've been hogging Harry for long enough_ , Hermione muses. The witch stops to press a kiss to his cheek before she untangles herself from him and heads towards Molly, Gideon and Fabian (the Weasleys managed to get Pandora Lovegood to babysit for them as the witch lives just down the road from them).

Hermione hears Emmeline and Harry now quietly talking behind her as she strolls away, but she quickly gets lost in conversation with Molly and her red haired brothers.

Andromeda, Ted and Tonks arrive a bit late, and immediately Narcissa heads for her sister to warmly embrace her, and it is as if no time at all has passed for either witch. Tonks skips about, and when she almost breaks one of Dorea's vases—the witch in question used wandless magic to stop it before it crashes onto the ground—James takes it upon himself to entertain the young girl.

Ted then gets brought into the fold as Lucius, Arthur, and Charlus heatedly discuss the corruption within the Ministry—a very popular topic with the current political climate and all. Abraxas is still the Head of the Malfoy house, but he has been allowed Lucius to sit in on some of the Wizengamot gatherings so that he will be well-equipped when it is time for him to take over.

Summer is lazily drifting past them, and not for the first time are they able to forget about the War that is still raging on.

Regrettably, their carefree summer days could only last for so long; eventually they would need to come to an end. An end that abruptly takes them all by surprise. An end that harshly reminds them of their cruel reality.


	55. A Change Of Allegiance

**Hello hello lovelies!**

 **This chapter is very near and dear to my heart, so hopefully you all like it. I will say it is a bit graphic, so please keep that in mind. The reason I like it is cause it ushers in a new era in this story.**

 **Please, please, _PLEASE_ leave a review and let me know what you think :)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

* * *

After everyone retired from Harry's party, the Boy Who Lived and Ron "The King" Weasley cornered Remus.

The other Marauders and Lily are too busy ribbing and teasing Hermione about their new silvery pink scars on their shoulders to notice that the three wizards are missing.

The two boys don't say much, and their severe looks soon melt into vibrant smiles, but their message is clearly conveyed; they're entrusting Hermione to him, but he _better_ not mess it up...or he'll have them to contend with.

Remus would rather not be on the wrong side of either of them: the two wizards are powerful—frighteningly so. Although, strangely enough Ron scares Remus more. Perhaps it's because he's seen Ron in action more than he has Harry—although from what he's heard, Harry is plenty powerful in his own right.

The three wizards return to the Sun Room to join their friends, and raucous laughter greets them. As Remus wraps his arms around Hermione's shoulders from behind, he can't help but think that he'll do everything in his power to make sure that Harry and Ron's faith in him isn't misplaced.

* * *

 **Thursday, August 9th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

"James only just recovered, Charlus...you know how he is—he'll want to dive back in, to make a difference," Dorea murmurs, a trickle of fear dripping from her tone. Her trepidation is perfectly rational, but, she knows she cannot keep him from fighting, nor would she particularly want to. James has always been a stubborn, strong-minded wizard—a fact that she is immensely proud of. She simply doesn't wish to toss him right back into the inferno of all consuming uncertainty—that surely awaits them outside the sanctity of the Manor—as of yet.

"I hate it too, dear," Charlus murmurs, slipping an arm around his wife's waist and dropping a quick kiss to her temple, "but, you know we need to tell them. The sooner the better."

Dorea makes a noise of agreement, her gaze affixing itself upon the small gathering of young wix just outside of the Sun Room, soaking in the warmth of the lazy summer afternoon.

"We'll tell them tomorrow…just…not today," Dorea states morosely, stepping into Charlie further.

Whilst they have been recuperating and regrouping, the War still rages on, never relenting, never letting up. They had been naïvely sequestered away, almost forgetting the tragedy all around them.

Dorea looks at them, and not for the first time she grieves the youth and innocence stolen away from them. No, they would let them have one more day. One more day to be gay and free.

Whilst the Potter Patriarch and Matriarch watch on, hearts and minds heavy with burdensome knowledge, Hermione Granger is otherwise concerned.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Hermione asks Remus gently, her fingers gently stroking his hair.

Remus hums gently, languidly trailing patterns across her thigh—sending shivers along her body, and slightly shifting about the thin fabric of her cornflower blue sundress. It is a floaty sort of dress, that looks like it belongs to the sky, and is friends with the fluffy clouds.

This morning, when Remus first caught sight of it, he couldn't help running his fingers across it. That is, until his splitting migraine forced him to lay still whilst Hermione crawled into bed beside him.

They are running low on Wolfsbane potion, so they shall soon need to go in search of fresh ingredients to brew some more.

That being said, yesterday's Full Moon had been as pleasant as the previous month's. _Moony_ was surrounded by all his friends, not to mention that Remus vocalised the other day that he feels like _Moony_ has been calmer ever since they'd sealed the pack bond. What the wizard doesn't tell her is that _Moony_ is now displeased about _another_ unsealed bond.

"I'm grand," Remus says eventually, prying open one of his hazel eyes and drinking her visage in.

Hermione's bouncy curls fall forward over her bare shoulders—save for the thin straps of her dress—and hides both of their faces from view of their friends; they have their own tartan blue blanket apart from the large red one their friends are sharing.

"Promise?" Hermione asks, ducking her head closer to his.

Remus's tongue darts out of his mouth to play with his lip ring before his lips curl into a playful smirk, "you're beautiful, do you know that?"

Hermione's cheeks blossom with heat. She wonders if she's always going to blush when he makes errant proclamations of affection, or random compliments.

"I love you, Remus," Hermione whispers, bumping her nose against his.

"I love you too, gorgeous," Remus responds, his eyes fluttering shut.

Hermione flips her hair over her shoulder and shifts so that her head is lying on his chest, and one of his hands moves to hold her close to him. Both of them deaf to the loud noises from the other blanket as Ron and Sirius prematurely set off some Fireworks that James had found in his old Zonko's stash.

All blissfully unaware of the tragedy that had transpired the night before.

 **The prior night,** in a place far from the Manor, but also too close for comfort, things had gone in a drastically different direction for a quaint, close knit town in the middle of the English countryside. The moon morosely bathed the grim, crimson landscape with her cold light.

It is unnatural, and a fundamental affront to nature what occurred. Even if nature itself is violent, and cruel, there was no need for the bloodshed of so many innocents. The killing was not for food, or out of necessity, but merely for the sport; for the sheer delight of it.

Bellatrix Lestrange skips along a cobblestone path, bathed in blood, whistling a jovial tune as she yanks a recently deceased man behind her by his partially severed foot.

A maniacal spurt of glee came from her companion, and he giddily saddles up beside her—also drenched in blood, and relishing in every moment. Walden Macnair the ' _Executioner Extraordinaire'_ as Bellatrix affectionately calls him. The two of them are a diabolical duo, and bloodshed is guaranteed whenever they get together.

Macnair is a spindly, gaunt man, with a long, jagged scar across his left cheek, his limbs are thin, and when he moves it is reminiscent of a tipsy spider, he sort of half jumps on one leg, only to drag the other behind him, causing him to move in an errant, odd fashion. One gets the impression that he is perpetually hardwired with an illegal substance of some kind, but truthfully, he's probably just a bit touched in the head.

Macnair licks the still warm blood off his lips, making a content noise, before he tilts his head in mocking pity at the dead man Bellatrix is tugging behind her. "It's a shame we didn't find those Muggleborns or their families. Normally Dolohov's intel is always solid."

Bellatrix pauses, and whirls around on Macnair—dropping the foot in the process, "someone _must_ have tipped them off."

Macnair narrows his eyes at that, even for Bellatrix that is a fairly bold statement, especially considering that there is no proof of foul play. Knowing the unhinged witch however, one could draw the conclusion that she simply wishes to watch her Master torture some sorry sods; whether they are guilty of a grievance against him and their coalition or not.

Macnair grunts, shrugging, "or, maybe they wanted us to think they were here...and they tried to throw us off their scent."

Bellatrix scowls thickly at that, her hands coming to rest on her hips. The witch is about to hotly retort (not liking the idea of inferior Muggleborns, of _Mudbloods_ , outsmarting them), but is cut short by the arrival of an unexpected—but not entirely unwelcome—guest.

A sharp crack tears the air apart, and the witch and wizard sharply turn towards the source. Bellatrix grins brightly, her starch white teeth shining in the darkness; a stark contrast against her crimson soaked skin.

"My Lord," Bellatrix inclines her head politely, and then glances back down at the discarded body of the man she'd been tugging around aimlessly.

She points her wand at him, and giddily yells, " _bombarda!_ "

The body explodes, sending hunks of flesh, and organic matter in every direction imaginable. The witch simply cackles. Delighted. There is no rhyme or reason to the witch's actions, as everything she does is for the sheer twisted pleasure it brings her.

Theodus Nott fights to keep his expression impassive, but inwardly his stomach is tossing, turning, and twisting into an elaborate knot of violent waves and warped landscapes.

He didn't sign up for this.

Tom could not be allowing _this_ to go on.

 _Why not? He isn't who he used to be...or perhaps, he was always this way, and he's now showing his true colours. He had you_ _ **all**_ _fooled with his pretty words, radical ideologies and vast promises_. _You bought into it like gullible children,_ a voice hisses in Theodus's mind.

Weakly, Theodus tries to convince himself to the contrary. Tom doesn't— _couldn't_ know about this. This was never something they'd discussed—not at the beginning all those years ago, and _not once_ in recent times as Tom's vision is finally starting to come to fruition.

Of course, some bloodshed is necessary to pave a new way; to create a new order. There will always be resistance, it is simply the way of things, and with it comes casualties on both sides. It would be naïve not to think so; but _this_?

Theodus heaves in a large gulp of air. No, deep down, Theodus knows the truth. He's known it for a long time, _far_ longer that he cares to admit—even to himself. (Trickles of doubt had been playing on his mind for weeks now, and he'd rationalised things that perhaps he shouldn't have.)

Theodus begins to think things that would get his head lobbed off if he ever spoke them aloud. Things that would endanger his wife and unborn child.

His mind whirls, systematically going through his options, as he gazes upon Macnair pilfering whatever he can find off the dead. The wiry man pokes and prods at an unrecognisable figure—so much so that Theodus cannot figure out their gender—and makes a noise of triumphant when he finds something shiny, and precious looking around their neck. The chain breaks with a neat _snap_ , and Macnair promptly tucks it into his robes, and proceeds to pat the abdomen of the body he'd just stolen from. The man glances around him, grins madly as he spots his next target. The man excitedly hops up and heads towards the corpse.

 _The ginger haired boy that Bellatrix mentioned_ , Theodus ponders thickly, instead choosing to look down—which proves to be a gross error in judgement, as he discovers he is standing in a questionable pile of what he can only assume are someone's intestines.

 _Fucking grand, these are nice shoes. I'll have to burn them,_ Theodus scowls mentally. It's probably already sunk into the expensive material, and now they'll reek of death forever.

Theodus tips his head to the stars, at the bright twinkles that seem so innocent and pure compared to the mess he's surrounded by. He grips his wand tighter, lowering his gaze once more; he can't take his eyes off of the two unpredictable wix in front of him; they may start in on him next, just for the heck of it.

 _He was with James Potter, and the other boy, Lyall's son…can't remember his name, ah! Remus Lupin. At least I believe so, if memory serves,_ Theodus thinks.

(Theodus is quite surprised that Tom had not focused on any of the other persons there that night, only the ginger haired boy. It was as if he saw them all as unimportant, and not worth even a second thought.)

So many rumours have been spinning amongst their ranks as to his true identity, but Theodus thinks they are all hogwash. Something greater is at work here.

As it is, the Potters have been blacklisted amongst their organisation as Order members. If one sees them, or any of their known associates, they have been instructed to capture or kill them on sight. (Not that that made them particularly special in this case, as you could be a Muggle living a life of peaceful contentment, and you could still end up losing your life. Everyone is up for grabs, there are no limits on who lives and dies; there is simply _us_ and _them_.)

To Tom, the Order and all of its members are merely expendable pawns on Dumbledore's chess board. None of them are the real threat, and thus he has written them off as puny, insignificant pests. His sole focus is Hogwarts Headmaster; Theodus had held his tongue, never telling Tom that perhaps Dumbledore was his blind spot, and that perhaps his obsession with the older wizard was unhealthy, and would most certainly be his downfall.

Bellatrix's wild cackling pierces his ears, thus pulling him from his heavy contemplation, and he winces. He glances at the witch as she spins in hasty circle before yelling something incoherent to Macnair.

Whilst keeping a sharp eye on the two unstable wix, Theodus pauses to picture how the future will unfold, and it is not a pretty sight in his mind's eye.

In spite of himself, he still finds a tiny part of him is torn as he settles on a decision (perhaps a foolhardy decision), but, nonetheless, if he has even an inkling of what is truly going on here, then it may be the best course of action. It may quite frankly be the _only_ course of action.

He cannot allow this to go on any longer, and there is a slim possibility that he may be able to aid in preventing the bleak future that awaits them if they continue down this path. However, if he sits back and idly watches, then _everything_ will most assuredly look like the dismal landscape before him. There will be nothing but senseless death and destruction.

Theodus lifts his foot, and shudders at the squelching, sticky sound that comes as a result.

 _Dorea_ , Theodus thinks, his brow furrowing together. He hasn't spoken to the witch in years, and he highly doubts she'll simply welcome an audience with him without a _good_ reason. Knowing her, at the very least she'll chop off a limb first, and ask questions later. _Especially_ if she thinks her family is in danger.

 _No, I must be smart about this,_ Theodus muses, stroking the length of his jaw with the back of his hand, the slight scruff there scratching against his fingers.

Theodus sighs heavily.

Tiredly he turns an eye on Bellatrix and Macnair: the pair is dancing joyously about, linking arms and then separating only to spin around. It's when Bellatrix skips over a mangled hunk of flesh that he's had enough. Loudly, he proclaims, "The two of you need to clean this up. We can't draw any more attention to ourselves than _you_ already have."

Bellatrix steps forward, sneering, "why don't _you_ clean it up?"

"Because it's your bloody mess," Theodus responds calmly, turning up his nose as she steps closer—smelling of death, defecation and something sour that he doesn't wish to identify.

"Fine," Bellatrix pouts.

Theodus shakes his head and backs away slowly, not trusting the two of them one iota so he refuses to turn his back on them.

He sees Bellatrix pick up a discoloured, bloody hand, and throw it at Macnair with a laugh. The man quickly parried with a thick foot.

It's all he can do not to be sick. _I need to go see Abraxas._


	56. To What Do I Owe The Pleasure?

**Hello hello lovelies!**

 **I truly hope you all enjoy this chapter, and it would mean the world to me if you let me know what you think of it.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think.**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always, for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Saturday, August 11th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

 **Dorea Potter's Personal Study**

Lucius knows that Dorea suspects something the moment he steps through the floo. So instead of meeting her curious, yet suspicious gaze, he busies himself by waving his wand and vanishing all the soot that is clinging to his robes—black robes with delicate silver embroidery around the hems, and the intricate detailing also wraps all along the length of his sleeves.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Lucius?" Dorea asks wryly, leaning back against her desk, wand twirling between her fingers.

"Ever the vision as always, Dorea," Lucius smiles tightly.

"Alright, if we're playing that game—how is Narcissa?"

At that Lucius frowns, he swallows thickly, and his back is as rigid as a board, "she's suddenly taken a bit poorly as of this morning, we're unsure as to why."  
"Salazar, has she?" Dorea says, "I'm sorry to hear that, may the Gods grant her a swift recovery."

"Thank you," Lucius respectfully inclines his head.

"Perhaps, now you can tell me the reason for your urgent visit," Dorea states, flicking some of her voluminous raven hair over her shoulders.

Lucius carefully pulls a mask over his features. It is _crucial_ that he chooses the right wording here; lest she take off his head.

"I take it you heard about the disappearances a few days ago?" Lucius asks.

Dorea nods, her eyes narrowing to slits, but she utters nay a peep, clearly allowing him to finish.

"There is…well, to be quite frank, my Father and another individual are waiting in my Father's Den to be allowed passage into your home. They didn't wish to intrude, and they swear that they only want to proceed once you have given your express permission. All they request is the ability to hold an audience with you," The words come out a lot faster than he'd planned, but the unimpressed curl of Dorea's bottom lip sends him hurtling on his way. He detests that his calm exterior has been cracked wide open by the older witch, but perhaps it's because he knows a sliver of the past she shares with his Father.

Or, it could be that this meeting could mean the change of the tides, though which way it will sway he does not know. That, or it will be the downfall of his family, and everyone he cares about will end up slowly and _painfully_ dispatched by the Dark Lord.

Dorea quirks a brow, and taps her finger against her desk before she pushes off of it. Dorea keeps a keen eye on Lucius as she strides towards him. Lucius fights the urge to shrink back. She is a fierce tigress, toying with her prey—him—and the only thing keeping him safe is if he stands his ground. If he shows even one millisecond of weakness, she'll pounce.

"Why, in Circe's name, should I allow your Father, and this _individual_ into my home? Especially without knowing their identity. That would be entirely reckless, and downright foolhardy of me," Dorea says. At Lucius's tight-lipped response, and blank stare, she continues, "do I _look_ like a reckless, or foolish woman, Lucius?"

"No," Lucius responds softly, swallowing thickly, "well, you see—it's Theodus Nott."

Dorea snorts, stopping a few feet in front of him, her knuckles turning white as she grips her wand tighter. "So, let me get this straight. You wish me to permit two of Voldemort's _closest_ , and most trusted allies and advisors, into my home. Based on what? Your _word_ that they have no ulterior motives? Not bloody likely."

Dorea is vehemently shaking her head, and Lucius sees that whilst her interest is piqued, she is already dismissing the idea, classifying it as too risky. His Father said this would happen, his Father also said not to come back until he convinced her.

" _I know Dorea, son. Or at least I_ _ **did**_ _. She'll eventually allow us access to her home, but only because she is ruthless when protecting her own, and she will not hesitate to slice us to pieces. Remain calm, and appeal to her motherly sensibilities."_

 _Easy for you to say,_ Lucius sighs internally, but centers himself, and confidently meets the eye of the Potter Matriarch. "I swear upon my magic that they simply wish to talk. They have a proposal."

"You swear on your magic," Dorea murmurs, tilting her head curiously at him. "Interesting."

"Would you gamble your life, right here and right now, that they have no other intentions aside from a _conversation_?" Dorea's steady, intense gaze is unnerving to say the least, but Lucius stands his ground—his love of his wife keeps him grounded, and if his suspicions are correct, his unborn child. The Dark Lord cannot prevail, he simply cannot. Even if Lucius still has his doubts and reservations, deep down he feels it in his bones that this option is the one most conducive to how he wishes his future to play out.

"Yes," Lucius responds, voice steady and sure.

She must see his resolve, and a tiny smile tweaks the corners of her lips. With a shrug she says, "I suppose if they truly wished me any harm, they would have barged in after I granted you passage."

"So you'll meet with them?" Lucius says, and he does a horrible job of stifling his excitement, of stifling his _hope_.

Lucius does not wish to follow someone who permits the murder of an entire town of innocent Muggles, just because Bellatrix was _bored_.

Lucius was there when Bellatrix whinged about having nothing to do. He was there when The Dark Lord dismissively gave her permission to take Macnair, and wreak havoc as they saw fit. It was all under the guise of much prettier language, and the pretense of seeking out two particular Muggleborns and their family.

Narcissa held him that night, shushing him, and brushing back his hair. Telling him it would all be alright, _they_ would be alright in the end, and that they are doing the _right_ thing.

So when his Father came to him the following afternoon, joy soared in his heart, as did the hope. A sliver of hope for a future where a madman was not in power. Though, he supposes that means they should rid the Wizarding World of Dumbledore's stain, wash it from their psyches, and oust him from the elevated status he has acquired from defeating Grindelwald all those years ago.

Perhaps they should start fresh, cleanse and purify, through fire and when absolutely _necessary_ , through blood.

They shall deal with one wizard corrupted by power at a time; Dumbledore's time shall come after Voldemort falls. They shall defeat one monster before they move onto the next.

Whilst Lucius has been locked in an internal whirlwind of thoughts, Dorea had summoned Mipsy. The witch calmly requested that Mipsy inform the other occupants of the Manor that Dorea shall be hosting some _unexpected_ guests. Also, she requests that they all be on their guard, but asks that they not do anything rash.

(The other occupants of the Manor had been assisting Harry, Hermione and Ron in celebrating the birthday of a ginger haired girl that they loved very much. A stubborn girl with flames trapped inside her that she breathed when she needed to. A girl that had befriended a strange, yet fascinating blonde girl, that was made fun of because she dared to be different. A girl that they flew through the skies as if she belonged there with her fiery hair whipping out behind her.)

Mipsy is about to go on her way, but before she does, she sends Lucius a disapproving look; her wide eyes quivering with light disdain.

There is a small pop, and the House Elf disappears.

Mipsy doesn't trust him, and he understands why she wouldn't. _He_ wouldn't trust him if he was her. Lucius knows that until proven otherwise, he is still an _unknown_ , still a possible _threat_.

He must earn their trust, he _needs_ to. This den of lions with their snake brethren will be the ones to save them _all_. He has yet to openly admit it to himself—aside from the safety of his wife and unborn child—that there is nothing he wants more in this world, than their success.

Dorea casually points her wand at the fireplace, her other hand is on her hip—brushing against the soft silk of her casual robes—and Lucius turns to face the fireplace. With a languid flick of her wrist, a handful of floo powder flies into the fireplace, and simultaneously, with her voice as clear as a whistle, she yells, "Malfoy Manor!"

A burst of green flames erupts forth, licking at her, but not quite reaching her, only to retreat back into the fireplace; they greedily gobble at the two wizards that appear one after the next, cautiously stepping out into the short space in front of Dorea.

Coyly, Dorea smirks, "well, it certainly has been a long time, hasn't it?"

* * *

 **I decided to put this at the end of the chapter as to not assault you with a wall of text at the very beginning.**

 **It was my original intention to post until chapter 70 this month, but with the lack of response I've gotten on the last three chapters, I think this may or may not be the last chapter I post for this story this month. This isn't some way of begging for reviews.**

 **It's just that I was having a lot more fun writing this story last month when it was just for me, and I don't wish to taint the joy of writing this story by the unavoidable feelings of doubt that trickle in when you get a severe lack of response to your work.**

 **I understand that life is a bit hectic for everyone, and that it is exam season. I also have a lot of things going on in RL right now, so trust me, I get it.**

 **For those of you that did review, THANK YOU, you are wonderful and you made posting those chapters worth it. You _truly_ did, and if any of you wish to see snippets of how the next chapter is going to go then msg me on tumblr or PM me and I will send them to you :)**

 **I hope that none of you are upset by this, and if you read all of this then thank you very much, and I really hope you have enjoyed my story thus far x**


	57. Reconciliation Of Old Friendships

**Hello hello lovelies!**

 **I've been massively busy, so I haven't been able to respond to all of your _amazing_ reviews that you left on the last chapter. It honestly made me really happy, and it was brilliant hearing that you lovely lot were enjoying reading the story as much as I enjoy writing it. **

**Actually, I'm technically still updating on the same day I originally intended to post this chapter at the beginning of the month. The plan was to post chapter 58 tomorrow, but things are a bit crazy right now...and that chapter is a bit of a monster. A monster that doesn't wish to be tamed. So I may or may not be able to get it finished in time, if not, hopefully I'll get it done sometime this weekend x**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

Abraxas Malfoy has a presence that instantly spills into the room, filling every available space that it can. The man's platinum blond hair is cropped close to his scalp, slicked back neatly, save for a few bangs that have escaped. His grey eyes sharply pierce right through you. Just as Dorea Potter is not a witch one wants to have as an enemy, Abraxas Malfoy is a wizard that is not to be trifled with. The two personalities seem to be silently at war with each other as they scrutinise the other.

Abraxas is a tall man—a smidge taller than Ronald Weasley—he has impeccable posture, and no movement he makes is without purpose. Despite the stature that automatically came with his family name, Abraxas had earned the respect of his peers and elders through sheer wit and charisma. It is a widely known fact that if you want something done _well_ , you go to Abraxas.

It is an odd thing to stand across from two people you used to be rather close with, and to have a prickling feeling across your nape. There is a strange feeling in the air, almost as if there is a gaping chasm in between them which only seems to grow with every moment that passes.

Lucius respectfully steps back, allowing Theodus and Abraxas to properly approach the Potter Matriarch.

As Dorea calmly assesses Theodus, she can't help but think how he has aged extremely well—there is hardly a wrinkle on him. Theodus is also an imposing presence, and he has a similar build to Abraxas, with the exception that Theodus is somewhat bulkier than his lithe companion.

Theodus's nature is a quieter one, you can never tell exactly what he is thinking, and his ice blue eyes clinically dissect everything around him. Not to mention he is highly efficient, he has no time for nonsense or tomfoolery. Dorea supposed that is one reason why he was so attractive to Tom, why You-Know-Who would have seen him as a proficient tool to add to his repertoire. Pale, dark curls, a sharp jaw, and a slightly crooked nose—overall he is a very attractive man, yet there is this distinct sense of peril that clings to him.

"It hasn't been that long, my dear," Abraxas says with a crooked grin, right in front of her now, and he gently picks up her hand—the one clutching her wand—and places a suave kiss on the top of it. "Surely you remember the Ball that Julius Greengrass held not too long ago in his summer home in Nice—it feels like it was just yesterday."

"If by _yesterday_ you mean almost eight years ago...then yes Darling, you would be correct," Dorea quips, withdrawing her hand gracefully, and politely taking a step backwards.

Dorea then turns her attention to Theodus, "Theodus. It's has been over a decade since I last laid eyes on you."

Theodus gives her a dry, tight-lipped smile. There is a tightness to his expression, as if he is very uncomfortable and trying his utmost best to conceal it. The wizard inclines his head in a blunt motion, "Dorea."

"I must say, this is a lovely surprise, and I'm delighted that you both appear to be in good health," Dorea tells them with a smile so sweet it would make your teeth ache.

"Lora Shacklebolt tells me that you and your wife are expecting your first child soon," Dorea tacks on, her bare feet sinking into her plush, crimson coloured carpet. The witch carefully regards the impassive man's reaction, but there is no outward indication of his true feelings.

Warily, Theodus subtlety nods his head, "that would be correct."

"I can imagine having a madman as a close friend will be a _splendid_ influence on the little tyke," Dorea comments airily, gesturing in an absentminded fashion to her environs.

There is a long moment where everyone seems to hold their breath before Theodus casts a sharp eye Abraxas's way, "we should leave. We shouldn't have come."

Abraxas raises a hand, sending his companion a pointed look that speaks volumes, and unbeknownst to Dorea, he is reminding the wizard that this was _his_ idea in the first place. Abraxas is speaking to Theodus, but he turns to face Dorea, "we can't leave just yet. We only just got here."

"It appears I've touched a nerve. What? Are you and _Tom_ having issues lately," Dorea asks in a gentle, almost dreamy way.

Both men stiffen, eyes wide as she grabs a hold of their full, undivided attention.

" _What_ did you just say?" Theodus whispers, acute horror presenting its way across his features.

"Oh, did you think you were the only one who _knows_ things?" Dorea asks, the corners of her lips twitch upwards.

"Who told you?" Abraxas asks, but from his tone it is clear that it is a demand. He is disconcerted, and there is a spark of fear in his eyes. The men had clearly come here today thinking that they held all of the cards, and it is truly a delightful sight to see them try to regain their composure.

Lucius is in the corner now, lips clamped shut, and he silently drowns in viscous confusion, but he does not utter a peep. Truthfully, the other members of the room have forgotten about his presence entirely.

Dorea ambles away from the two wizards towards her desk, and as she walks around it, she lets her fingers trail across the polished mahogany. Dorea takes great care in placing her wand on her desk in front of her, and smoothes her hands across the backs of her thighs as she sits down in her comfy, black leather armchair—to ensure that her robes are properly tucked underneath her. The witch settles into her desk chair, shoulders back, and her fingers are in a steeple as they come to rest in her lap.

Despite the fact that she is physically on a lower elevation than the two wizards, her presence looms over them. "I take it we have a lot to discuss. I suggest you take a seat, gentlemen."

Dorea gestures to the two armchairs on the other side of her desk, and with a flick of her wand and a muttered incantation, she summons another armchair from the corner of the room. The three wizards hesitate, especially Lucius—the wizard feels leagues out of his depth amongst the giant presences he is sharing the room with.

Dorea narrows her eyes, "I know how to defeat him, and I also have a good idea where _they_ are."

That draws their attention, and Lucius is the first to move—sitting on the armchair furthest to the left—and he sent a subtle nod Dorea's way, which she responds to with a small smile.

Abraxas and Theodus cautiously join Lucius, but they are rigid and clearly ill at ease. "What do you know?"

"I know if I was to walk into his secret little lair right now, and smite him from this earth, that he would return…maybe not tomorrow, or the day after, but he would," Dorea drawls, waving her hand in a grand, elusive fashion.

Abraxas looks as if a weight has been removed from his shoulders, and Theodus gasps for air as if he had been on the brink of drowning, and he has just broken the water's surface.

"He made you make an Unbreakable Vow, didn't he?" Dorea throws out a guess, she is grasping for straws a little, but from the tight grimaces both of the wizards are wearing, she suspects she may have hit the nail on the head.

"Father?" Lucius asks, turning to his Abraxas—who is seated in the middle of the trio of wizards—with a questioning look of concern.

"All of us—Tom's original… _followers_ made one. We _foolishly_ did not think much of it at the time. The only stipulation was that we would not share any sensitive information with anyone outside of our organisation, or anyone who was not in the know." Abraxas says cautiously, measuring and weighing every word before it left his lips.

"We saw things…and heard things," Theodus mumbles. "Abraxas and I had suspicions years ago about what you are implying…but if it is true, then I'm afraid we are all severely _fucked_."

Theodus deflates, there is no more silent confidence, simply a broken looking man who slumps in his seat and hold his head.

"I already told you. I know how to defeat him," Dorea states calmly, leaning forward in her seat, her smoky grey eyes sparking with audacious fire.

Abraxas mulls over her statement, glances at his son in his peripherals and purses his lips. The wizard then shares a loaded look with Theodus, "I don't need to tell you that we are taking a massive risk, even just _being_ here."

"I understand that, of course I do," Dorea inclines her head, and her voluminous raven locks fall to the side as she does so—a dark, shimmering curtain. "I do not make this request lightly, but knowing those risks, and knowing that your lives will be in constant jeopardy…will you help us? Will you help us defeat Tom Riddle?"

The two older wizards flinch at You-Know-Who's full given name, as if they haven't heard it in a very long time, and the mere mention of it dredges up unpleasant memories.

"He wasn't always like _this_ ," Abraxas says more to himself than the witch before him, and she sends him a sympathetic look, but the fair wizard dutifully ignores it.

A slight motion out of the corner of her eye causes her to turn her head to look at Theodus.

"Before I agree to anything, I need you to guarantee that if anything happens to me, you will take care of my wife and child," Theodus requests, a grim, severe look on his face, as he stands up, and in an unhurried, deliberate way he places his hands on the desk in front of him. He lowers himself to Dorea's level, and the flurry of ice meets the scorching swirl of smoke.

"I swear on my magic, that if anything should befall you, I will take care of your wife and child," Dorea says with pure conviction and without a moment's hesitation.

Theodus lingers for a hair's breadth, and then like a cautious predator, never breaking eye contact, he slinks back, fixing his well-tailored navy blue waistcoat before he takes a seat again. Theodus folds his arms over his chest, and taps his foot—she must admit that he is as always, very well put together with his black dragonhide shoes, his long sleeved white button down that had the sleeves rolled up above his elbows, and his black trousers with white pinstripes on them. Abraxas is also dressed immaculately, although, his attire is a bit more traditional; he is wearing elaborate black robes that give him a distinguished and dignified look.

Theodus taps his index finger against his bicep, cocks his head to the side, and for the first time since he's arrived, he fully lets his guard down, "okay, Doe. I will—I will help you in every way I can."

A peculiar feeling unfurls in her chest at the nickname Abraxas had given her when they were still in school, a nickname that eventually Charlus and Theodus began to use as well. To think, in another life, she would have been Abraxas's wife. _Funny how things work out_ , Dorea muses.

Abraxas stands up, and strides towards her desk; his robes dramatically settle around him, and he places a hand over his heart to further emphasise his sincerity. "As will I," Abraxas says solemnly.

"Well then boys, I suppose we better get started," Dorea smirks, lightly tapping the edge of her desk. "We haven't a moment to lose."


	58. A Treacherous Locket

**Happy Friday lovelies!**

 **This chapter is _very_ long, and I meant to have it out like two weeks ago, but things just didn't work out. It's funny cause I had the next few chapters already pre-written, but I couldn't finish this one for the life of me.**

 **OH, and there are a bunch of canon lines in here, that I worked and re-worked to fit into this chapter. So all of those are in italics, but not *all* the italics are canon lines. Confusing I know, but it's mainly in the middle section of the chapter. The canon lines are partially why it took me so long to finish this chapter.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais**

* * *

 **Tuesday, August 21st, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

"We should have destroyed it before now…but so many things happened, and—" Hermione cuts herself off with an exasperated groan, her hands diving into her curls so that she has _something_ to grab onto.

"I still think I should come with you," Remus says, arms folded over his chest. The wizard is leaning against her desk—scrolls, parchment and tomes litter the desk in some form of organised chaos that no one aside from Hermione can decipher.

The witch has spent the past few days with ink smudged fingers, and her werewolf boyfriend a few feet away as he assists her when necessary as she completes complex Arithmancy calculations and does extensive research. Remus has also ensured that his witch actually ate, showered and slept, because she oft became so immersed in her work that such things slipped her mind.

"We talked about this. It's already excessive that three of us are going," Hermione quips, her hands falling to her sides, and she strides purposefully over to her reading chair where her satchel awaits her.

The witch's back is turned to him as she rifles through it, checking— _again_ —to ensure that she has everything she needs with her, namely a couple basilisk fangs, some dittany, a silver dagger laced in basilisk venom that Dorea had gifted her with, and a couple other odds and ends.

"Exactly. I don't get why _you're_ even going. Harry needs to go since he's been there before and he knows what has to be done, and Charlus is going because he is the most proficient at using fiendfyre," Remus pushes up off of her desk, mouth set in a grim line as he strolls over to her. He stops a couple feet away before continuing, "they don't _need_ you this time, Hermione."

Hermione bristles as she whirls around, coppery flames burning brightly in her eyes. She takes a large step towards him, and with her satchel firmly grasped in one hand, she harshly pokes his chest with the index finger on her other. "This is not a discussion; I'm going because they _do_ need me."

"Why?" Remus ducks his head so that their faces are inches apart, staring right into the inferno and not flinching. "It seems to me like this time you are putting yourself in unnecessary danger, Hermione."

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione's jaw drops, she stares up into his hazel eyes, and it irks her that he is so bloody _calm_.

"You can't relinquish control, and it almost seems like you _crave_ danger, Hermione," Remus frowns, and Hermione recoils at his blunt statement.

" _What_ did you just say to me?" Hermione snarls, irritably slipping her satchel's strap over her head so it diagonally crosses her body.

"I'm your mate, Hermione. It's my job to keep you safe," Remus says, his tone is clearly harsher than he'd intended since he winces as soon as the words leave his lips.

Hermione is about to hotly retort that she didn't need _anyone_ to keep her safe, but instead she bites her tongue; she realises that she is being a bit petulant. A lot of her irritation is stemming from the fact that she is unaccustomed to relying on others; with the exception of Harry and Ron that is.

Hermione knows Remus is just worried about her because he loves her. Any rational person would try to keep their loved ones away from danger if it's in their power to do so.

"I'm still going," Hermione says quietly, a stubbornness contorting her features. Remus sighs heavily through his nostrils and the hot hair blows across her face.

Remus straightens out to his full height, and before she registers what's happening, his hands are gruffly grabbing her hips and she's pulled flush against him. Gold trickles into his irises as he says, "fine…if I can't convince you otherwise, then promise me you'll be careful, Hermione."

Hermione swallows, and for a moment it is as if there is a gooey, sticky substance lodged in her throat. Remus quirks a brow and awaits her response. Hermione clears her throat.

"I promise, I'll be careful," Hermione swears. Remus lets out a resigned sigh, and leans down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. He pulls back to look at her for a long moment. Then, they both surge forward at the same time, and their lips smash against each other's. They pour their frustration into the rough kiss, and it's not long before Remus hikes Hermione's leg up onto his waist.

The floorboards by the door creak, the pair abruptly breaks their kiss, and their heads sharply turn towards the source of the noise; Charlus Potter.

Charlus rubs the back of his neck, quietly regarding the young couple, "sorry for interrupting. I just came to let you know Harry and I are downstairs waiting whenever you're ready."

"I'll be there in a moment," Hermione smiles, and her cheeks are radiating heat as her face is burning a violent, tomato red.

Charlus shoots them both an amused smile and nods, "okay."

The Potter Patriarch turns on his heel, and strides away, but he's whistling a cheery tune as he goes.

Hermione turns her attention back to her mate once more, "I will be careful. I'll be back before you know it."

"You better, cause then I can reward you for a job well done," Remus says coyly, his glowing eyes flicker, and he bites his lower lip.

Hermione's eyes widen, but there's an elated look on her face, and she grasps his face, "I'm holding you to that, Mister."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Remus grins arrogantly, kissing her quickly. The werewolf plucks her off of the ground, wrapping his arms around her, and Hermione hugs him with everything she has.

"I love you, Hermione," Remus breathes.

"I love you too," she replies.

There's a sharp pain in her chest when he places her back on the ground and releases her, and her hands linger on his chest for a precious but fleeting moment. Hermione reluctantly removes herself from him, and begins to head for the door. With every step she takes, an anxious bubble grows around her; she truly hopes that she's doing the right thing.

* * *

Hermione can _smell salt and hear rushing waves; a light, chilly breeze_ ruffles her _hair as_ she looks _out at moonlit sea and star-strewn sky._ She is _standing upon a high outcrop of dark rock, water foaming and churning below_ her. She glances _over_ her _shoulder._ _A towering cliff_ stands _behind them, a sheer drop, black and faceless. A few large chunks of rock, such as the one upon which_ the group of wix are standing, look _as though they had broken away from the cliff face at some point in the past. It_ is _a bleak, harsh view, the sea and the rock unrelieved by a tree or sweep of grass or sand._

"Well this is a grim sight," Charlus remarks.

"A miserable place for a despicable misuse of magic, it seems almost fitting doesn't," Hermione comments, adjusting her footing since the rock underneath her feet feels unstable. She doesn't wish to take a headfirst dive into the jagged rocks in between her and the dark, angry waves.

Harry shivers beside her, and Hermione turns to look at him, only for her hair to whip her in the face. With a scowl, she brushes it back, but it refuses to be tamed, curling and swirling around her head at the whims and fancies of the wind. Hermione catches glimpses of Harry's haunted expression through her hair—that keeps passing in front of her line of sight, even if she is trying to hold it back.

"We still have a ways to go," Harry deadpans, and without another word he carefully makes his way to _the very edge of the rock where a series of jagged niches made footholds leading down to boulders that lay half-submerged in water and closer to the cliff._

Hermione and Charlus slowly follow his lead. _It_ is _a treacherous descent. The lower rocks_ are _slippery with seawater._

Hermione can _feel flecks of cold spray hitting_ her _face._

"Lumos," Harry says as he reaches _the bolder closest to the cliff face. A thousand flecks of golden light_ sparkle _upon the dark surface of the water a few feet below_ him, and Harry crouches down so that he is closer to the water's surface; _the black wall wall of rock beside him_ is illuminated _too._

In a robotic fashion, Harry holds his wand a little higher, almost as if he is mimicking someone else, and he is so worried about mucking it up that it comes off as an awkward re-enactment.

Hermione rips her gaze from Harry, and sees _a fissure in the cliff into which dark water_ is _swirling._

"I hope you guys don't mind getting a little wet," Harry says quietly.

Then without another word, Harry agilely slides down from the boulder, lands in the sea with a muted splash as a wave swallows him whole. Within moments he breaks the surface and begins to swim.

Hermione gapes at Harry, who has not checked to see if they are following him. His lit wand is held in his teeth, as he heads towards the dark slit in the rock face.

Hermione and Charlus share a look, and then with a shrug Charlus follows after Harry. Hermione takes a moment longer, ensuring that her satchel is secured across her body and that its flap won't open if the sea decides to toy with it.

Hermione inhales deeply, and then follows after the two Potters. _The water_ is _icy;_ Hermione's _waterlogged clothes_ billow _around_ her _and_ weigh her _down._ _Taking deep breaths that_ fill her _nostrils with the tang of salt and seaweed,_ she strikes _out for the shimmering, shrinking light now moving deeper into the cliff_.

 _The fissure soon_ opens _into a dark tunnel that_ Hermione can _tell would be filled with water at high tide._

 _Thank goodness it isn't high tide,_ Hermione thinks, trying her best not to get any saltwater in her mouth.

 _The slimy walls_ are _barely three feet apart and_ glimmer _like wet tar in the passing light of_ Harry's wand. _A little way in, the passageway curves to the left, and_ Hermione sees _that it_ extends _far into the cliff._

Hermione continues to swim in Harry's wake, _the tips of_ her _benumbed fingers brushing the rough, wet rock._

Then Harry is rising out of the water ahead, his long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans clinging to his lithe frame. A few moments later, Charlus gets up after him, running his hands backwards through his wet, raven hair as he strolls along after Harry.

 _When_ Hermione reaches _the spot_ she finds _steps that_ lead _into a large cave._ She _clambers up them, water streaming from_ her _soaking clothes, and_ emerges _, shivering uncontrollably, into the still and freezing air._

Harry is _standing in the middle of the cave, his wand held high as he_ turns _slowly on the spot, examining the walls and ceiling._ There is an odd look on his face, as if he's seeing someone or something from his past, and he isn't quite sure how he feels about it.

"Harry?"

"I'm looking for the spot..."

"Something feels… _wrong_ ," Charlus says, stepping closer to Harry as his hazel eyes rake over the rock, trying to discern what Harry is looking for.

"Dumbledore says it was the known magic or something like that," Harry mutters.

Hermione cannot _tell whether the shivers_ she is _experiencing_ are _due to_ her _spine-deep coldness or to the same awareness of enchantments._

Hermione and Charlus watch silently as Harry traces steps of a man he used to admire, a man that in their dimension is now dead. Harry walks around the cave, _touching as much as the rough rocks as he_ can _, occasionally pausing, running his fingers backward and forward over a particular spot, until he finally_ stops, _his hands pressed flat against the wall._

"I found it," Harry says, as if in awe of the act itself. "We—we go through here. The entrance is concealed."

Hermione can't bear the chill anymore. She supposes the reason she hasn't used drying charms yet is because she was so enthralled watching Harry move about. It seems Charlus is of a like mind, as he's taken out his wand and had just dried himself off; he turns towards her and griously dries her off with a hot blast of air—she feels warm and cozy like she's curled up in the middle of furnace. Hermione thanks him with a grateful smile, and when she turns her attention back to Harry, he's smearing blood across the rock with his hand.

"Harry! What _are_ you doing?" Hermione exclaims, hastily crossing over to Harry so that she's right beside him.

There is a short silver dagger in his hand that has crimson lining the edge, and pang of fear strikes her heart before she realises that it is not one of the ones laced with basilisk venom.

"Payment is required to enter—more specifically, blood," Harry says, his tone void of any emotion, as if a wraith is feeding off of his energy. Hermione frowns as a _blazing silver outline of an arch_ appears _in the wall: the blood-_ smeared _rock within it simply_ vanishes, _leaving an opening into what seemed total darkness._

Hermione grabs a hold of Harry's hand around the edges, careful to avoid the angry slice on his palm that still has crimson bubbling out of it. Harry doesn't say anything as she takes out her wand and waves it over his hand, and the wound closes. The only indication that it had ever been there is the sticky, crimson that has gathered on his hand.

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry smiles weakly, but it almost looks like he's experiencing severe pain. Hermione squeezes his hand before she lets it go.

"I'll go first," Harry says, and walks _through the archway with_ Hermione and Charlus _hot on his heels, lighting_ their _own wands hastily as_ they _go_.

 _An eerie sight_ meets _their eyes: They_ are _standing on the edge of a great black lake, so vast that_ Hermionecannot _make out the distant banks, in a cavern so high that the ceiling too_ is _out of sight._

 _A misty greenish light_ shines _far away in what_ looks _like the middle of the lake; it_ is _reflected in the completely still water below._

 _The greenish glow and the light from the_ three _wands_ are _the only things that_ break _the otherwise velvety darkness, though their rays_ do _not penetrate as far as_ Hermione _would_ expect them to. _The darkness_ is _somehow denser than normal darkness._

"Be careful not to step in the water, stay close and follow me," Harry instructs them in a firm voice. Hermione swear she seems something flash in his bright green eyes, but it is gone so fast that she tells herself that it must have been a trick of the light.

As they set off around the edge of the lake, _their footsteps_ make _echoing, slapping sounds on the narrow rim of rock that_ surrounds _the water._

They walk for some time, without a word passing between them, and _the boundless expanse of smooth, glassy blackness_ is beside them the whole time, and _in the very middle of which_ is _that mysterious greenish glow._

Hermione finds _the place and the silence oppressive, unnerving._

Harry halts suddenly, and Charlus almost crashes into him, but stops himself just in time, "what? What's wrong?"

"Nothing...I think I found it," Harry says, more to himself than either of his companions.

"You're being really cryptic, Harry," Hermione says quietly, a shiver prickling across her spine, an icy hand stabs through her chest and grips her heart.

"Because neither of you is going to like this," Harry says, but then pauses, "I actually don't know if this is going to work, but...Grandpa?"

"Yes, Harry?"

Harry almost looks like a child when he peers over his shoulder at Charlus, "do you think you can set the lake on fire, the inferi don't like fire. I would like to get them out of the way sooner rather than later this time."

"The inferi?" Hermione squeaks out, and Harry shrugs.

"I was going to cross the lake by myself, drink the potion so I could get the locket, and then get Grandpa to torch it, but I think we probably all need to cross the lake at once...and in order to do that we can't go via the boat. The boat will only take one person as there are enchantments in place to measure magical power. Since we are all of age, and at the risk of sounding arrogant, I think we all have quite a bit of power...I doubt we'll get very far before the Inferi try to drag us down into lake's depths."

Harry gulps in a large breath of air, and continues, "and we can't summon the locket."

"How big is this boat?" Charlus asks.

Hermione has other concerns, "why didn't you tell us this before?"

"Truthfully? I don't know," Harry admits, and with the assistance of the light from his wand she can see his features crumple with shame. Harry then answers Charlus's question, "the boat can fit one person comfortably, two is tight but possible…three would be nigh impossible without sinking it."

"So we need to cross the lake, but we can't do it with the boat, and the only other option is to swim, but we can't do that because of the Inferi just hanging out below the surface?" Hermione groans. Suddenly feeling like perhaps Remus was _right_ , Harry and Charlus didn't _need_ her here. Maybe she _did_ need to have control over everything.

Just as her doubts begin to mount, Charlus mutters a curse under his breath, "fuck it."

Charlus moves his wand in a lasso type of motion, and then flings his hand forward and a whip of flames flies from his wand, soars through the darkness—cutting through it—before it swings straight into the water. The depths of the water are illuminated by the ever burning flames, and Hermione's eyes widen as she sees _them_.

She can't move, and she forgets how to breathe.

Skin like marble, hair and robes swirling around them like smoke. Bodies, so many bodies; men, women, children, all with sightless, soulless eyes. The Inferi flail about, and a piercing noise careens through the air, and Hermione's hands fly to cover her ears. She can feel the vibrations pounding against her eardrums, and in horror she catches sight of pale hands jumping out of the water and clawing at the bank.

"Grandpa," Harry says, grabbing a hold of Hermione's elbow and pulling her back a step with him.

"Don't worry, I see them," Charlus grunts, and his fingers on his free hand dance through the air, weaving a web of fiendfyre that floats in front of him, and when it gets big enough to possible capture a handful of the Inferi, he tosses it forward. The flames hiss upon impact with the water before the net sinks and catch some of the Inferi in its' grasp.

Charlus jerks back his wand, and the whip ferociously slices through some of the Inferi on its way back to its Master. The shrieking is still slicing and dicing its way through the air, but Hermione cannot help but be in utter awe of Charlus's mastery of fiendfyre.

The whip is an extension of Charlus as he rakes it through the lake, hitting more and more Inferi. A few try to clamber out of the water and get to them, but Harry uses _Incendio_ after _Incendio_ to battle them back. Hermione feels useless, but her pain lessens as Charlus dispatches of more and more of the Inferi.

Crimson, gold, orange and yellow dance around the cave, as Charlus's flames twirl like ballerinas around the Inferi, encircling them, trapping them, incinerating them and leaving them burnt blackened husks. It could be equated to watching a ballet, a horrific ballet, but a ballet none the less; for every clumsy, fumbling move the Inferi make as they blindly swim into each other whilst trying to escape the fire, Charlus counters it with a graceful flick or twist of his whip.

Eventually, Charlus succeeds in 'killing' all of the Inferi (if one could use that word to describe the now permanently lifeless creatures), but now he is left magically drained, and with a heavy sigh he collapses on the ground, holding his side. One of the Potter Patriarch's eyes is closed, and his fiendfyre whip fades away.

" _Lumos_ ," Charlus whispers, and his wand tip begins to glow again.

Hermione removes her hands from her ears, "are they...are they all dead?"

"Only one way to find out," Harry says with a puckered brow.

"Do we have to swim now?"

"No, I think the enchantment only matters once the Inferi are still a threat, now...now I think we should both be able to cross without—actually, I won't say anything, before I put my mouth on it," Harry says with a shake of his head. Squaring his shoulders, Harry steps forward until his trainers are on the utmost edge of the rock rim.

"Here goes nothing," Harry says, hope brimming in his voice. Harry's back is as rigid as if a steel pole had been inserted along his spine. Harry's non-wand hand is clenched in midair, and with a forced rigidity he taps his fist with the tip of his wand. _Immediately a thick coppery green chair_ appears _out of thin air, extending from the depths of the water into_ Harry's _clenched hand._ There is an air of disbelief about Harry as he stares at the chain, but then he taps _the chain, which_ begins _to slide through his fist like a snake, coiling itself on the ground with a clinking sound that_ echoes _noisily off the rocky walls, pulling something from the depths of the black water._

Hermione watches, mesmerised, _as the ghostly prow of a tiny boat_ breaks _the surface, glowing as green as the chain, and_ floats _, with barely a ripple, towards the place on the back where_ the wixare.

Harry stands aside, and gestures for Hermione to climb into the boat. She does; carefully, with one hand outstretched to help her maintain her balance whilst the other holds onto the edge of the boat, which is surprisingly dry.

Harry steps _in too, coiling the chain onto the floor. They_ are _crammed together;_ Hermione _could not comfortable sit,_ so instead she crouches, her _knees jutting over the edge of the boat, which_ begins _to move at once._

 _There_ is _no sound other than the silken rustle of the boat's prow cleaving the water; it_ moves _without their help, as though an invisible rope_ is _pulling it onward toward the light in the center. Soon they_ can _no longer see the walls of the cavern_ (Charlus's wandlight is shining on his face, and from over here it looks like he is a floating, disembodied head); _they might have been at sea except that there_ are _no waves._

Hermione avoids looking down into the water if she can, as the Inferi's remains are bobbing just below the surface in differing levels of dismemberment. In order to keep her wits about her, she fixes her gaze towards _the greenish glow which the boat_ is _still inexorably sailing._

Harry gently touches her elbow, and then softly says, "we're nearly there."

 _Sure enough, the greenish light_ seems _to be growing larger at last, and within moments, the boat_ comes _to a halt, bumping gently into something that_ Hermione _could not see at first, but when_ she _raises_ her _illuminated wand_ she sees _that they_ have _reached_ _a small island of smooth rock in the center of the lake._

Harry climbs out of the boat, careful not to touch the lake water—the Inferi might be not be a problem anymore, but it would be irresponsible to act recklessly now, so he opts to stay on the safe side. He holds out a hand and helps Hermione out, and she clings to it even after her feet find solid ground.

 _The island_ is _an expanse of flat dark stone on which_ stands _nothing but the source of that greenish light, which_ looks _much bright when viewed close to._

Hermionesquints _at it; at first,_ she thinks it may be _a lamp of some kind, but then_ she sees _that the light_ is _coming from a stone basin rather like_ a _Pensieve, which_ is _set on top of a pedestal._

Harry approaches the basin, pulling Hermione along after him. When they reach it, _side by side, they_ look _down into it. The basin_ is _full of an emerald liquid emitting that phosphorescent glow._

"Dumbledore drank _that_?" Hermione asks, if there is one detail Harry had shared prior to this venture, it was that there is a potion that needs to be drunk before one can reach the locket.

"Every last drop," Harry says gravely, and the greenish light is flickering across his features, making his face look oddly gaunt and ghoulish. She recognises the look on his face; Harry is about to do something stupid, something brave and _stupid_. "Now I'm going to do the same."

"You cannot be serious," Hermione gapes, her free hand that is clutching her wand moves up to grasp his cheek—the golden light from the tip of her wand blends with the greenish light, and the mixture glitters across Harry's skin.

"I have to, Hermione. It's the only way, we've come too far to turn back now," Harry says stubbornly, his hand coming to rest on hers, and he leans into her touch. "I'll be okay, I have you here to look after me, don't I?"

Hermione hesitates, but after a deep exhale, she nods. As much as she doesn't like this, he's right. Of course he is. She wants to protest, she wants to whisk him as far away from here as possible, but _he's right_.

Harry steps back from her, and with a wave of his wand and a muttered incantation he conjures a crystal goblet.

"This—this is not going to be pleasant, Hermione. You have to promise me that you'll make sure I keep drinking it, even if you have to pour it into my mouth."

"Harry," Hermione says weakly, hugging her arms to herself.

"Promise me, Hermione."

"Harry, I don't know if—"

"Hermione."

"Okay," Hermione says with a heavy finality, and she can't help her hands from shaking. There are painful knots being tied in her stomach, that are then subsequently threaded together until there is this vast mass just sitting in the pit of her stomach. The mass threatens to swell—any moment now—to an enormous, unbearable size that pushes at the inner lining of her stomach.

 _Their eyes_ meet _over the basin, each pale face lit with that strange, green light. Harry_ does _not speak,_ hesimply lowers _the crystal goblet into the potion._

Hermione reluctantly watches as Harry fills the glass to the brim, and with an unreadable expression Harry lifts it to his mouth.

"To taking **this** Tom Riddle down," Harry says, and then he knocks his head and the goblet back, draining it of its contents.

"Harry, Harry are you alright, how do you feel?"

"That definitely isn't pleasant," Harry gags, wrinkling his nose and closing his eyes. Before Hermione can say anything further, Harry plunges _the glass blindly back into the basin,_ refills _it, and_ drinks _once more._

"Hermione…when it's all done, if you want water, you're going to have to get it from the lake. Otherwise it won't work," Harry says suddenly, his eyes flying open as if recalling something traumatic.

"O-Okay, why can't you…?"

"I love you, Hermione. You've been my best mate since we were eleven…just, promise me you'll make sure I drink all," Harry requests, a wan smile on his face. Hermione doesn't like the fact that he didn't answer her question.

"I love you too, Harry…I promise."

 _In silence,_ Harry drinks _three gobletsful of the potion. Then, halfway through the fourth goblet, he_ staggers and falls _forward against the basin._ Harry's eyes flutter shut, and his breathing is heavier now, more laboured.

"Harry?" Hermione asks, sounding very small.

"Are you two okay?" Charlus yells from across the way, standing as he'd regained some of his strength.

"Fine!" Erupts out of Harry without any warning, but then he's panting and in a tiny voice he says, "don't make me…not anymore, I don't want it…"

"You have to keep drinking, Harry, remember?" Hermione says soothingly, walking around the edge of the basin until she is right beside harry. Bile burns the back of her throat when Harry shakes his head, "no, please…"

"C'mon, Harry, it's not that much farther, you just have a bit more," Hermione lies, and she forces the goblet back towards Harry's mouth and tips it, so that he drinks the remainder of the potion inside. Repulsion at her own actions surge through her veins. This is _Harry._ One of the people she would die for, and she is _knowingly_ causing him pain.

Harry falls to the ground, and blankly looks up at her, "no more…"

It is horrific. Screaming, begging, pleading spills from Harry, and tears are streaming down her face as she forces him to keep drinking. As she tricks him to keep drinking. It feels like she's **killing** him.

Hermione scoops _up_ the _tenth gobletful of potion and_ feels _the crystal scrape the bottom of the basin._

Hermione's smile is strained as she says, "nearly there, Harry. Almost. Drink it…drink…"

She supports Harry so he is sitting upright, even though he is slumped forward and his head is bowed towards the ground. Harry lifts it just enough to drain the goblet once more. Then he whirls on her with no warning, clutching at the fabric of her shirt around her chest and pulling her close, bright green eyes on fire, and an anguished scream rips from his lips. " **Kill** me. I want to die. **KILL ME**!"

Hermione shrinks back as far as she can in shock, but then Harry releases her and jumps to his feet, pacing back and forth and fisting his hands in his messy raven hair.

Hermione repeats the process one more time, and Harry squats down, rocking back and forth and blubbering nonsensically.

She returns to the basin only to find it empty, but now nestled there is a glinting golden locket; Salazar Slytherin's locket. She stares at the affronting object, recalling the twisted whispers that had filled her head on the run. She recalls starving, she recalls pain, she recalls all the death.

Hermione's hand trembles as she scoops it out of the basin, and she swears the hissing sounds are spitting from it, but then she hastily stows it in her satchel.

Hermione turns back towards Harry, and sees that he's passed out on the ground, **no**.

"Harry? No, no, **no** ," Hermione chokes out, rushing to Harry's side. "You said you would be okay. Fuck. Harry Potter, I swear."

Hermione shakes his motionless body with one hand, the goblet and her wand grasped in the other. She drops the goblet on the ground beside them, and points her wand directly at Harry's chest, " _Rennervate!_ "

There is a flash of red light, but nothing. Hermione cries, " _Rennervate!"_ once again, and Harry moans lightly, his body shifting as he rouses. "Water," Harry croaks.

"Shite, right," Hermione says, clambering for the goblet and hurrying to the water's edge. She flings herself _over to the edge of the rock and_ plunges _the goblet into the lake, bringing it up full to the brim of icy water._ She ignores the pale, slightly charred hand peeking out of the dark water several feet below the lake's surface.

Hermione clumsily jumps up, almost tripping over her feet—her legs tingle and are shaking like jelly—and she hurries over to Harry's side. With somehow steady hands she holds Harry's head up and tips the goblet to his lips. Soon the goblet is empty, and tiredly, Harry says, "we need to go...let's...go."

Hermione nods and helps Harry to his feet, and the Boy Who Lived leans on his female companion as they make their way back over to the boat.

"Did…you get the locket?"

"Yes."

"Good, let's burn it."

Hermione helps Harry get into the boat, and follows suit; she settles them into place so that Harry is half lying across her with his eyes closed. _Once they_ are _both safely jammed inside again, the boat_ begins _to move back across the black water, away from the rock._

Neither of them says anything as they journey back across the black water; Hermione is too focused on Harry's shallow breathing and his pallor, he has also broken out into a cold sweat. Hermione is deathly afraid that she may have just killed her best friend. They have _no_ idea what the long term affects are of the potion, Dumbledore didn't live long enough for them to find out.

The trip back seems to go by much faster than it was going, and they reach the bank with a little bump _._ Hermione is startled as she didn't expect them to arrive in such a short space of time, and before she knows what's happening, Charlus is lifting Harry out of the boat, and Harry mutters something to the man before shooting him a strained smile.

Hermione looks around the boat's floor and realises Harry had dropped his wand, so she quickly grabs hold of it, and then she climbs out of the boat.

"You got it?" Charlus asks, fully supporting Harry's weight, and his grandson's arms are loosely wrapped around his neck, and his head is resting on Charlus's chest.

"I did," Hermione nods, reaching into her satchel and she retrieves the golden locket—now she **knows** she isn't imagining things as there is most certainly a low hissing coming from it.

Hermione bends down and places it on the ground in front of them, and then with a shaking hand she reaches into her satchel—into the separate section where she'd placed her silver dagger laced with basilisk venom and she pulls it out.

As soon as she takes the sheathed dagger out, it's as if the horcrux can sense her intentions.

Everything happens before she can register it: Harry lowly begins to hiss something in Parseltongue, Hermione unsheathes her dagger, and a ferocious pulse of magic emits from the locket and send them all flying backwards.

 _Crack!_ Hermione's head snaps against the rock, and blinding pain radiates from the impact. Her vision is blurry, and everything is _darker_ somehow. It feels like a stranger's fingers are touching the back of her head, yet as soon as she feels the sticky liquid, she knows they belong to her.

"What just happened?" Charlus groans, the wind knocked out of him as he'd landed on his back whilst cradling Harry to his front.

"The horcrux is fighting back," Hermione answers, tightening her grip on her dagger's hilt as she slowly sits up.

This cave truly is a place of horrors: tendrils of smoke have swirled out of the horcrux, engulfing them in a hazy fog, and a wispy figure is hovering over her with a Cheshire grin.

" **Pretty little Hermione Granger. I can see your** _ **heart,**_ **your** _ **true**_ **desires…you think because he fucked you he loves you?** "

Hermione recoils, blinking rapidly as she tries to focus on the figure before her, but there is a thick opaque screen in front of her eyes barring her from seeing properly.

" **Regardless, you never cared for such things, what you want, what you** _ **truly**_ **want is** _power_ **.** "

"Shut up," Hermione says, but her words sound miniscule, there is no weight or force behind them. _No, I am better than this. I am_ _ **stronger**_ _than this,_ Hermione thinks.

Her head is throbbing. Her arm feels funny. Her eyes are burning. In spite of it all, she stands.

" **Kitty got claws? Too bad that it won't do you any good. Especially since you won't actually go through with it. You know you** _ **need**_ **me. I can help you…you know it's** _ **true**_ **.** _ **"**_

"All I _know_ is that you talk too much," Hermione snarls, and lunges forward, stabbing straight into the shadowy figure. A caterwaul that spills from it rings in Hermione's ears, and she flinches, but that doesn't stop her from stabbing it again, and again.

The figure disintegrates with its maw open wide and its hands passing right through her. There is a sticky cold in her bones that refuses to be shaken off, even when she takes several steps back.

Then there's a golden light that pierces through the darkness, and tongues of flame lash out and clear away all of the smoke, only to reveal the horcrux.

A misshapen figure is bubbling out of the horcrux, trying desperately to crawl towards them—its arms are spindly and its fingers are hooked, sharp claws. Grey bubbles foam at the corner of its open mouth and it lets out a piercing scream.

"That's enough of you," Charlus pants out, and a tornado of fiendfyre heads right for the creature and the horcrux. Hermione watches its demise with her honey brown curls partially in her face, with copper swirling in her eyes.

" **NO!** " It shrieks, and with a sizzling noise the fiendfyre swallows the horcrux. There is a gooey blackness that leaps upwards, but gets caught in the flames and burns away into nothingness.

Charlus grunts in effort as he maintains the fiendfyre whilst keeping it under his control. He is sweating profusely, and clutching his side. Harry is laying, passed out on his back on the ground.

Then with a loud gasp, Charlus ceases the spell and the flames disappear, leaving behind a smoking and scorched locket.

" _Aguamenti,_ " Hermione murmurs, and water spills from her wand and douses out the residual heat emitting from the locket; it is hissing and steaming, but thankfully not like it was before.

It's a miracle she didn't lose her wand in all the commotion. Hermione strides over to the locket, pausing only pick up her dagger's sheath from the ground.

She halts in front of the horcrux and re-sheathes her dagger. She bends down to scoop up the horcrux, and then tiredly she tucks both of them back into her satchel.

"I think it's time we leave this accursed place," Charlus wheezes, hands on his hips, gulping in air and trying to catch his breath.

Hermione hurriedly rushes over to the Potter men, squats down beside Harry, and she almost cries in relief when she notices that his chest is rising and falling.

"We need to get Harry back to the Manor," Hermione says, jumping to her feet and searching for the exit.

"Where, where is it?" Hermione frowns, as if only now realising that the archway had disappeared. Hermione reaches behind her and winces as she touches her wound and blood covers her fingers. She can see a lot better now—she'd shifted her eyes to her animagus ones (another thing she wished she'd thought of earlier)—and she blindly swipes her hand across the rock, hoping that she's in the right spot.

The blazing silver outline of an arch is back, and then it melts away into an opening once more. Hermione looks around, and sees that Charlus had Harry across his back in a fireman carry and is right behind her.

With weak nods, they both exit the cave; leaving behind the terrible things within. Without anything further said between them, they walk until the water lapping around their legs get deep enough, and they vault themselves off of the rock and into the frigid seawater.

With shaking limbs they find their way back onto the other rock, panting, and soaked to the bone by the icy water.

"Hold on," Charlus heaves out. Hermione nods to show she heard him, and then the two of them place their hands on Harry. Then somehow, _somehow_ , Charlus and Hermione muster up enough of their magic and energy, and apparate away.

* * *

"The amount of work you give me, Charlus…I swear you people have a death wish, or a complete disregard from staying away from danger," Alfred Pennyweather says curtly, pale blue light gently shining from his hands onto Harry's body; Harry is currently laid out across his bed.

 _They hadn't stopped to let anyone know they were home before they flooed Alfred—who'd arrived in record timing, with the War and all he had been extremely busy as of late, so he was already to leave at a moment's notice—and carried Harry straight to his room._

 _Alfred had glanced at Charlus and said, "magically drained, a few nicks and bruises but you'll be fine. Some rest is what you need—although I highly doubt_ _ **you**_ _are going to heed my words. Do try to at least get a good night's rest tonight."_

 _Alfred had then turned his dark eyes on Hermione, quickly scrutinising her, and there was odd feeling that washed over her, "you have a concussion, and a nasty cut, but a few potions and some rest should fix that." Alfred rifled in his bag for a few moments, and pulled out a couple phials, "drink those."_

 _Hermione accepted them, and in a daze expressed her gratitude and thanks whilst Alfred shifted his attention to Harry, "now, I think I best look at…Mister Potter."_

 _Alfred shot Charlus a razor sharp look when he realised that Harry was not James like he'd originally thought, the lightning shaped scar on his forehead was a dead giveway, not to mention the subtle differences between the two Potter's faces. It was Alfred's job to be observant after all. Charlus shrugged with an exhausted but cheerful smile. Alfred snorted and got to work._

Presently, Hermione is watching Alfred tend to Harry, and she comes to the conclusion that she isn't needed here; Harry is in good hands and she hates sitting here feeling useless. So quietly she gathers her things and leaves the room. Her head is still pounding, but her wound isn't bleeding anymore, and the potions seem to be kicking in.

Briefly she considers heading to her room, or to go looking for Remus, but then another thought strikes her. _I have to go see, Dorea,_ Hermione thinks. So she does.


	59. Which One Do We Go After Next?

**Happy Saturday darlings!**

 **I hope that everyone who read yesterday's chapter enjoyed it x**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 _Thud_. The burnt husk of what used to be Salazar Slytherin's locket makes a dull thudding noise as Hermione drops it on Dorea's beautiful mahogany desk.

Hermione sighs heavily, shoving her matted curls back over her shoulders as she heavily plops into one of the armchairs in front of Dorea's desk. She's going to have to ask Remus to help her wash her hair later, she is far too exhausted, and it is going to be quite the tedious task.

Dorea peers curiously at the destroyed horcrux, and the scratching noise her quill had been making halts as she pauses in her writing. Dorea taps her quill against her parchment once, fixing the horcrux with a stern stare before she turns the quill around and pokes the blackened locket with the end of it. The locket makes a low, scratching sound as it moves forward a few millimetres, and Dorea's mouth twists to the side in thought.

"Is everyone alright?" Dorea asks softly, maintaining an intricate mask of calm.

"I won't lie to you...it was _dreadful_ , but we'll all live. Alfred is attending to Harry now, Harry isn't in the...best shape, but Alfred says Harry is going to be okay," Hermione exhales in a huffy sort of fashion, and she then gulps in air as if she can't quite catch her breath.

Dorea's entire body sags in relief, she abandons her quill beside her parchment, and then presses a hand to her forehead as she falls back in her chair, "thank, Salazar."

Hermione's head lolls to the side, and she affixes her gaze upon the ruined locket, "how do you think he would have felt about Riddle desecrating his locket with such dark magic?"

Dorea scrunches up her nose as she responds, "Salazar Slytherin did dabble in some ' _dark_ ' magic himself, but magic in itself is not dark or light…not really. More so, the intent, and how the user wields it dictates whether it is…good or bad."

Hermione frowns at that, in school they were taught that there was a distinction (not even the books in the restricted section that she'd read had touched on the subject), so the concept that magic itself is not inherently good or bad is new to her.

Dorea seems to sense this, and she leans forward before she continues, animatedly gesturing with her hands as she speaks, "unfortunately for Muggleborns, we can only teach you so much in school. It isn't a slight against you or your capabilities; it's just that you have _so_ much to learn since you aren't exposed to magic from the time you were born. Much in the same way, most magical folk are completely at a loss and out to sea when it comes to the Muggle world."

Hermione frowns at that, "so you're saying they don't properly explain some of the more subtle nuances of magic, since we don't have enough time to do so in school?"

"Basically," Dorea answers carefully. "It is the same way that blood magic is not readily discussed with you at Hogwarts, and thus, it is often seen as dangerous or ' _bad_ '. As opposed to teaching you that magic comes with a price—especially of that magnitude—but that doesn't mean that it is evil."

"Like how creating a horcrux rips your soul in half," Hermione says reticently, her head falling back as she slumps in her chair. As much as she would like to ply Dorea for more information—more so properly contribute to this discussion—she is fatigued in every way possible; destroying horcruxes is hard work after all.

"Exactly," Dorea affirms, rapping her knuckles across the wooden surface of her desk. "Magic is a wild thing, we _think_ there are stringent rules that it follows, and that there is specific order, but truly there isn't."

"What do you mean?"

"Magic is... _alive_. When we're children we often have bouts of powerful accidental magic, since we don't know how to channel or control it, but then when we go to school we then have a tool—our wands—to help focus our magic. Whilst we are learning to control and harness it, we also become dependent on our wands, and we lose touch with the natural ebbs and flows of magic," Dorea continues, frowning, as if articulating this particular concept aloud for the first time.

"Which is why it's so hard for us to learn how to do wandless and non-verbal magic?" Hermione queries, wishing that her head isn't still throbbing so she could follow this conversation a lot better. She'll have to talk to the Potter Matriarch about this more extensively at a later date.

"Precisely. You then have to break down all those rules and your dependence on your wand, you have to tap into and re-familiarise yourself with magic in its purest, rawest form. With no filter or screen so to speak."

"I'm thinking about it now, but you often opt out of using your wand," Hermione murmurs, eyes half-lidded as they stare straight at Dorea. She really wants to climb into her bed and sleep.

"I think it's my natural affinity for elemental magic—which is a priceless gift. Whether it's using elemental magic, or using _weather_ magic it seems almost _wrong_ with a wand. It often hinders the magic, I find. It's just...it's funny how the one thing that helps us channel and focus our magic, also hinders us from truly reaching our full potential," Dorea smiles gently, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in her chair.

"Can you teach me?" Hermione asks, smacking her lips together, her throat feels like sandpaper is rubbing viciously across it. It would be rather convenient if she could create lightning storms like the Potter Matriarch.

Dorea grins brightly, "it would be my _pleasure_. I always thought that one day I would be able to pass on my gift. It's a lost magic, _truly_ being able to control the elements and the weather."

Dorea assesses Hermione's sluggish form and asks, "when do you wish to start."

"When I don't feel like a giant has stomped on me repeatedly," Hermione croaks out with a strained smile.

"Brilliant."

After some quiet moments of thick ponderance on both witches's parts Hermione quietly states, "it's only a matter of time before he becomes aware of what we're doing. This time…this time Harry isn't connected to him…and I never thought I'd feel conflicted about that, but without that connection we are left at a disadvantage." Hermione's lips twist to the side wryly, and her nose twitches before she finishes, "we need to prepare for the worst."

Harry's lack of a connection to Voldemort leaves them waffling in the wind, poking about blindly in the dark, with no compass nor direction to truly guide them. It leaves them vulnerable. The only remnants of Tom Riddle that Harry has is that he is still a Parselmouth.

"Are you referring to the idea you shared with me last month?" Dorea asks gently, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth.

"I think it's time, we need to have options in case anything goes awry," Hermione nods, grunting as she straightens up—there is a twinge in her right shoulder, she'll have to ask Remus to take a look at it, though she probably just needs some salve and not to exert herself for a couple days.

"I'll start the preparations then," Dorea says.

"If you need any assistance just let me know, and I'll help in any way I can," Hermione offers.

"That is awfully kind of you, dear," Dorea smiles gently, uncrossing her arms and leaning forward. "Between you and I, I think we should get things sorted in no time…now, that that's settled…which one of these—" Dorea gingerly scoops up a section of the scorched chain with the first digit of her index finger, and meaningfully glances at the horcrux, "—do we go after next?"

* * *

 **Thursday, September 6th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

 **Full Moon**

The seasons twist and change in an instant: the sweltering summer days smoothly slide into crisper evenings, and all too quickly, the leaves on the trees in the Orchards are turning a flurry of yellows, oranges and robust reds.

The impartial Mistress of the sky gleams against the inky darkness, and she is accompanied by the frosty wind as she blows, and sends a burst of leaves that have already fluttered to the ground skittering across the dry grass.

It hasn't rained in weeks, and the land is cracked and bursting at the seams with hope that the promise of rain nears as the seasons shift.

A large stag rubs his antlers against the dry bark of one of the many trees in the Orchard, whilst a doe looks on, but she is soon distracted by a Pointer dog bursting out of the darkness. Both deer skitter to the side at the sudden movement—momentarily ruled purely by instinct—but upon realising that is just their friend, they both settle.

The dog is panting heavily, and lets out a soft bark at the doe, who bows her head and nuzzles her nose against his shiny coat.

The stag resumes his scratching for a few more moments before a distant _crack_ causes them to all still, the only sound is their erratic breathing.

Without any warning, two wolves, a large dog, and another slightly smaller stag bound into the small area, but they do not linger. They merely keep going, hooves and paws heavily hitting the dry earth as they sprint over thick roots and disappear in and amongst the closely-knit trees; and the moonlight intermittently gleams across their furs and pelts through the gaps in the canopies.

It is a silent understanding between the doe, stag and dog that they should follow. Without hesitation they chase after their pack members.

Before long they catch up, and the pack members pursue each other—to no end—around the Orchard for hours. It becomes an unnecessarily elaborate game, the _Grim_ the most eager to win. In the end, the two wolves are victorious, there are of course no standards or rules to imply such a thing, but they all just _know_. The Alpha _always_ wins. That however did not stop _Padfoot_ from playfully challenging _Moony_ at several points during the night.

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, the animals end up in a tiny clearing just big enough for them to all pile on top of each other for warmth. All the tension their human counterparts are feeling melts away for a few precious hours, and for a bit, it is as if all is truly right in the world.

* * *

 **The conversation about magic wasn't originally as in depth as it is here, but after a recent chat with the Sirius to my Remus, hogwartsaheadcanon (she writes breathtakingly amazing things, go check them out), about how magic is this untameable, wild thing, I fleshed out that part of Dorea and Hermione's interaction.**

 **Anyways, I hope you liked the chapter lovelies x**


	60. The Big Bad Werewolf

**Happy Sunday!**

 **I can't really comment on anyone's reactions to the last couple of chapters because there...wasn't really any. For the people that did review, thank you SO much, I appreciate it endlessly x**

 **The petty side of me wasn't going to update today because of it, but I figured that was petulant and silly of me, and so, here we go. This chapter is basically pure smut, and I regret nothing.**

 **I have a couple more chapters already pre-written, so if I can find time then I should post them all this upcoming week.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think. Please.**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Sunday, September 9th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

Remus affectionately watches Hermione sway as she ascends the staircase, and he can't help smiling when she peers over her shoulder, face alight with mirth, and cheeks pink from all the Elf wine. Hermione blows him a kiss before giggling and sprinting up the rest of the staircase.

Hermione pauses at the top, throwing her hands out to the sides before in a tantalizingly low voice she says, "are you coming or not?"

She doesn't have to ask twice, and as she breaks out into a light jog towards the bedrooms, he swiftly chases after her. The wizard catches her around the waist, and spins her around in his arms before backing her up against the wall beside Sirius's room. (The animagus is still downstairs, happily letting Lily French braid his hair; the rest of their friends are also still downstairs, merrily drinking themselves silly. With the exception of Ron and Regulus, who'd both insisted they help Mipsy clean up after dinner.)

Remus gazes down at his witch, at her flushed face, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and at the crinkles around her mouth from the giddy smile splayed across her features. Hermione's eyes melt into a honeyed coppery colour, and by her reaction, he senses that his eyes have also shifted.

"You caught me," Hermione says breathlessly, her hands fisting the material of the front of his oxford blue jumper around his midsection.

 _Moony_ has woken up, and is insistently urging him to _take_ what is so clearly being offered. Remus doesn't know if it's the lingering effects of the Full Moon that have gripped him so fiercely, but he _wants_ to give in. He wants her to be his, _all_ his.

Since their first time over a month ago, Remus has been holding himself back. He doesn't quite trust himself. He doesn't know if he'll be able to resist sinking his teeth into her hip and sealing their mate bond. He was so close to doing it last time, _so close_.

So, in spite of Hermione's constant assurances that _she's_ ready, they had yet to take that next step, because _he_ hadn't been ready. He didn't wish to rush it.

Something in him seems to have shifted, because now, all he can think about is how nice she feels in his arms, and how her _delightful_ smell is engulfing him. Hermione Granger's smell is piquant and he drowns in it every time.

Hermione hikes a leg up and around his waist, using the heel of her foot to bring him closer to her, and from her wicked grin, she obviously can see the effect she is having on him.

 _Caramel and vanilla_ , the smell is so potent now, it borders on being sickly sweet, and it consumes him whole.

"Hermione," Remus whispers, pressing their foreheads together, his hands ghosting over her curves and up along her body until they come to rest on her cheeks. "Are you sure? You can't take it back."

"Yes, Remus. A million times over, yes. Yes. Yes. _Yes_ ," Hermione breathes, and with her giddy smile is back as she pulls him down to her level by his jumper, her lips a hair's breadth away from his.

"Hermione—"

Hermione doesn't let him get out another word, because she presses her lips to his and suddenly all protestations madly flee his mind.

Remus has no idea if he lifted her, or if she jumped, but the next thing he knows, her legs are securely fastened around his waist, and he has her fully pressed up against the wall. The air is crackling around them, magic building as if it realises what they are about to do; it is as if a star is about to explode, and there are sparks dancing across his skin as they share rough, eager kisses. Remus's hands are everywhere, whilst Hermione's have found their way into his hair.

Remus breaks the kiss, panting heavily, and he almost loses all semblance of control he has when her tongue languidly swipes across her swollen bottom lip. He is _so_ screwed. Though, he supposes he's been screwed since the moment he laid eyes on her.

What a _shame_ it would have been if the Golden trio had never arrived in their dimension, because he would _never_ have felt _this_. Sirius would tease him mercilessly if Remus ever utters that thought aloud, but frankly, he doesn't give a flying fuck.

Hermione's oversized jumper slips off her right shoulder, exposing her silvery pink scar from when they sealed the pack bond, and for some reason, Remus feels both guilty and aroused.

"You sure you want to do this when you've been downing Elf wine all evening?" Remus asks softly, and Hermione snorts loudly, tugging on his messy sandy blond hair (she is wholly and solely responsible for it being in such a disorderly state).

"Remus Lupin. I want _all_ of you. It's like you're convinced that I'm going to vanish one day, but I'm _not_ ," Hermione frowns, her bottom lip jutting out a bit as she begins to sulk.

"You _did_ appear out of thin air," Remus reminds her. "Who is to say that unknown force won't take you away again?"

Hermione growls loudly, one of her hands sliding down to wrap itself around his neck, the other travels to firmly but not unkindly grip his chin, "I'd like to see it fucking _try_. We're here to _stay_ , and if it doesn't like that, then it can _fuck_ off."

It is like some tight ball unravels itself inside of him, as if a dam of pressure inside of him simply releases. It is as if a rather large bloke had situated himself on top of Remus's heart, and has finally decided to vacate the premises.

Something tells him it is all going to be okay, and he lets go. He simply lets _go_.

Remus wraps his arms around her waist, and presses a lingering and searing kiss to her lips. _Not here_ , a voice in the back of his head quips. Remus reluctantly removes one hand from his witch, and lifts them both off of the wall.

Hermione seems to read his mind, and her legs fall from around his waist, but her lips never leave his as she begins to walk them backwards to his room.

Hermione shoves Remus up against his bedroom door, and the witch and wizard are a mess of breathless laughter whilst his hand fumbles about for a moment as he finds the doorknob. They stumble into the room, and Hermione almost trips over herself in the process.

They break apart long enough for Hermione to close the door back behind them, and to throw up silencing and locking charms.

Remus and Hermione stand a few feet apart, and everything stops. Hermione's curls are an untameable, wild thing, there's a pretty blush on her cheeks illuminated by the waning moon, but her eyes are glowing, like molten copper.

They surge toward each other, and they cannot divulge each other of their clothes fast enough; Remus tosses Hermione's jumper over his shoulder and it knocks an extinguished candle off of his bedside table. They both freeze, they glance at the candle, and then back at each other. Simultaneously they erupt into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

As their laughter dies, they properly look at one another again. Remus reaches back and pulls his jumper up and off of him, dropping it on the ground beside him.

Hermione slips out of her trousers, letting the fabric pool around her feet for a moment before she steps out of them, and kicks them to the side.

"Remus Lupin," Hermione murmurs, taking a small step towards him, her hair falling forward and partially obscuring her face. Remus brushes it away, closing the distance between them. The werewolf encircles her waist, tugs her up against him, and buries his face in the side of her neck, drinking in her intoxicating scent whilst placing feathery, open-mouth kisses against her flesh.

"Hermione," Remus moans, a hand travelling down her supple body until it found itself at the apex of her thighs, and his fingers lightly dance across her clothed centre.

A light gasp escapes her lips, and her hands rake across his back and she shivers in anticipation. It truly has been far too long. Hermione's head falls back as his fingers slip beneath the black lace and slowly ease inside her.

"Remus," Hermione gasps, raising her head as to gaze up at him, her eyes flickering with flecks of glistening honey as his fingers begin to move. Her lips part, and her nails dig into his bared skin.

"That's it, sweetness. Call my name," Remus says with a whisper of a smile, revelling in watching her come undone. Hermione's breath hitches.

Remus removes his fingers from her, just long enough to lower them both to the ground. He holds her as if she is fragile fine chinaware, all whilst knowing in reality she is a Hungarian Horntail.

The werewolf slides himself down her body until his lips hover over her hip. Hermione lifts her head to look at him as his teeth bite down on the fabric on her hip. With one hand and his teeth, he tugs the affronting lacy fabric down her legs—stopping just past her knees.

Hermione helps work them the rest of the way off, and her hands bury themselves in his hair as he lifts her legs, parts them, and puts them over his shoulders as he settles in between them.

"Remus—" Hermione finds herself as a loss for words, watching as if under some sort of entrancing spell as he presses gentle kisses to her inner thigh; the entire time his eyes are firmly set on her face.

"You're so beautiful, sweetness," Remus murmurs against her skin, and heat races through her veins as shivers slither up her spine.

Hermione's mouth opens as she formulates her thoughts, lining them up in a logical progression of some kind, when his mouth finds her centre.

All words instantly flee her mind like fear-gripped innocents stampeding away from an imminent threat or something terribly frightening.

Remus laps at her cunt, and her thighs squeeze around his head, and her back arches. Hermione's chest begins to rise and fall rapidly.

She is coming undone under his careful attention, and she about loses it when his hand finds her clit.

"Remus," Hermione moans, but there is a sharp edge to her breathy vocalisation. She tugs his head up by his hair, and catches sight of the wizard licking her juices off of his lips. His tongue flicks back and forth over his lip ring.

Remus shifts her legs so that he can crawl up her body, and his own eyes are golden pools heavily sprinkled with amber.

He pauses by her ribcage, feathering his lips over her skin, and he nudges the side of her breast with his nose before he nips at the supple flesh.

Hermione's hand moves down until she is gripping his member through his navy blue boxers—the only stitch of clothing left on him. Hermione smirks arrogantly as he freezes, his head falling into the valley of her breasts as she strokes him torturously slow. Remus wishes nothing more in that moment than to bury his cock in her, but uses every ounce of control that he has to resist said urge.

"Hermione," Remus gasps against her skin, and without hesitation he shifts so that his mouth latches onto one of her taut nipples, and Hermione stops moving entirely as she arches into him.

Remus doesn't hesitate to divulge himself of his boxers, and Hermione's fingers find purchase in his hair once more to pull his head up, so that she can roughly claim his lips.

Remus uses one of his hands to grasp his aching cock and tease the tip in between Hermione's wet folds. The wizard breaks their kiss, and everything stops for a moment, and the only sounds that fill the room are their breathy pants. "You sure you want this? There's no going back. You'll be stuck with me _forever_. We'll be bonded for life," Remus murmurs, brow drawn together, propped up on one forearm whilst his other hand is still grasping his cock.

Hermione's hands slide down from his hair to cradle his face, and her thumbs tenderly stroke his cheeks, "good. I can't imagine anything better."

"You mean your magical core being entwined with that of a big, bad werewolf?" Remus jokes, stealing a quick kiss. He leans back just enough so that they can look each other in the eye properly.

"You're more of a puppy than a big, bad werewolf," Hermione responds playfully, and Remus's eyebrows shoot upwards.

"Is that a challenge?" Remus asks, and the corners of Hermione's lips turn downward slightly as she shrugs.

"And if it is?"

"Then I'll have to prove you wrong," Remus answers, and without another moment's hesitation, he slides into her wet heat.

Hermione's eyes widen as her head falls back, and her hands grip his face with such ferocity that it draws a low growl from his throat.

They fit together as if their bodies were designed for each other, and he supposes, in a funny way, they are. In that moment _Moony_ howls ardently, as if saying _finally_. It had been far too long since he had been inside his witch, his mate; all because of groundless doubts and insecurities.

All of his worries fade, and the air scorches and crackles around them as he begins to thrust in and out of her. Hermione's legs secure themselves around his waist, and she forcefully pulls his face down to hers so that her lips find his.

Their kisses are frantic, and breathy as they devour each other, as if at any moment the other will vanish into thin air. A bead of sweat slides down Remus's face, only to pool on his chin before falling onto the swell of her breast.

Remus is almost positive that Hermione has broken the skin on his back as her nails drag down it. He doesn't linger on that thought as he is working more on pure instinct right now, his hips snapping wildly to an almost uneven rhythm—but a rhythm that Hermione is matching stroke for stroke.

She is a breath-taking sight with her wild curls spread out on the floor under her.

Remus secures his arms under her back, and with a swift motion—and she makes a gasp in surprise—he pulls them both upright; his legs spreading slightly in order to balance properly as he hugs her to him.

Remus halts all movement, and Hermione wraps her arms around his neck, "I love you, Remus Lupin," Hermione whispers against his cheek before she peppers the side of his face with gentle kisses. The witch begins to move against him, but he is still as stone.

There is nothing gentle about the way he pushes her onto her back once more, or the way he uses one hand to secure both of her wrists above her head.

"No going back," Remus breathes.

"No going back," Hermione repeats, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and her inner walls clench around his cock, and that's it.

Remus's hips snap upwards, and he watches himself piston in and out of her, and almost loses it. It's pure, raw instinct that drives them both, and soon they are rutting against each other like wild animals, and he is so _close._ Before he truly understands what is happening, _Moony_ is screaming in his head, _now!_

It is a blur as Remus releases Hermione's arms and his mouth lowers to her right hip. Remus's can hear his galloping heartbeat, he can hear Hermione's racing, and his tongue darts out of his mouth to taste her salty skin, and _caramel_ and _vanilla_ is simply _everywhere_.

In a daze his lips part, and ever so slowly, his teeth sink into her hip. Electricity shoots from her body, straight into his teeth, and it sets his nerves on fire, and Hermione's walls tightening around him draws his release from him, and he spills into her. Yet, he doesn't remove his teeth.

There is a river of molten lava flowing through his veins.

Hermione's hand has found her clit, and soon she too is tumbling over the edge. Then, and only then does he remove his mouth from her skin, pausing to lick away some of blood that is trickling from her wound. (He doesn't even realise he did that until the metallic, tangy taste swirls around his mouth.)

When he straightens up once more, he realises Hermione is glowing. There is a golden aura encompassing her, and suddenly he is violently gripped up an intangible force. An invisible hand sews their magical cores together, piercing straight through them and moving back and forth as it cements their bond. The golden strings that bind them are present before their eyes, and they grow increasingly taut by the moment, tightening almost to the point of terrible agony and anguish. Simultaneously, it is as if he has been wretched from his body and is floating light as a cloud above it.

If it felt like a star was going to explode before, they are now in the aftermath of a cosmic explosion.

In that moment all of their other bonds are also evident, their strings travelling in different directions and disappearing through the walls.

Mesmerised, Remus watches as one of Hermione's strings burns white, so bright that it hurts to look at it, but he keeps his eyes firmly fixed on it. He feels the exact moment that the hierarchy in the pack changes, namely, the moment Hermione becomes Remus's official second.

A shroud of tingles crawl upwards from the base of his skull to the centre of his forehead, and he can sense the other pack members becoming aware of Hermione's new position.

Then, Remus finds another string being attached to him, a string that extends to two others aside from him and his witch. It is nothing like anything he has ever felt before, and he doesn't know what to call it, but he instantly knows that it formerly belonged solely to Hermione, Ron and Harry.

Hermione's glow begins to dull, and he feels more corporeal, less like an insubstantial mist or apparition.

"Fuck," Remus manages, and Hermione makes a humming sound as she raises her hands to her face, and presses the heels of her palms into her eyes.

A lazy grin grows on her face, and there is a buoyant quality to her tone as she says, "you're stuck with me now."

Remus chuckles softly as he lays himself across her, his cheek coming to rest in the centre of her chest.

There are no words to express his emotions. There is just calm and unwavering certainty. All doubts have been washed away.

The scalding feeling that had priorly burst in his chest has eased to a comfortable warmth.

Remus listens to her heartbeat slow from a gallop, to a canter and then to a steady, sure pace.

"It's a good thing I'm taking the contraception potion," Hermione says after a time, and Remus stiffens; contraception had completely slipped his mind, and he mentally curses himself over it. On the other hand he can sense _Moony's_ mild displeasure at the same situation. However, the wolf is pacified—for now at least—by the fact that their mate bond is sealed.

The thought briefly crosses his mind that he and Hermione are essentially married now, but he dismisses it; that's something to think about later.

"Remus," Hermione says, her hands loosely resting on his bicep, and her index finger lightly taps an errant beat against his skin.

"Yes, love," Remus asks, shifting his head to peer up at her.

"I'm scared—about the war I mean." From here he can see her gnawing on her bottom lip, but he can't find the words to voice a response to that.

It is then that he becomes aware of a new development—he can _feel_ her fear as if it is his own. There will definitely be an adjustment period necessary for that; he'd been able to feel extreme emotions through his bonds before, but nothing even remotely like this.

"This time is far worse than the first…I know what the stakes are, I've seen what can happen…we lost so many people… _so many_. I also have so much more to lose—" Hermione's voice breaks, and that's when Remus readjusts himself so that he is looking her directly in the eye.

There are fat tears rolling out of the corners of her eyes, intermingling with the remnants of the perspiration on her skin, Remus wordlessly kisses them away, and lovingly his hands move to cup her face.

There are no words of comfort that will ever be enough, so he pours whatever reassuring feelings and all the love he can into their bond, and wipes away her tears and kisses her soundly. Remus can make no promises of the future, as much as he desperately wishes to. So, instead he kisses his witch, and holds her tightly in his arms. Eventually they retire to the actual bed, and before long they slip into the land of dreams; entangled in each other's arms.

Remus falls asleep with one idea firmly rooted in his mind: he can make no promises for the future, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try until his dying breath to save everyone he loves.

What neither of them knew in that moment, was that things were about to get a lot more complicated.


	61. Complications

**Happy Monday lovelies!**

 **I am probably only going to be able to keep posting daily for a couple more days, as I am far too busy IRL and I'm running out of pre-written chapters. I just want to thank everyone who has ever left a review on this story, and also thank you to _everyone_ who reads this story, you lot are amazing x**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Friday, September 14th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

"I beg your pardon?"

The hairs on the back of Hermione's neck are standing at full attention, she is acutely aware of the sharp gaze burning a hole in her face, and the only thought that comes to mind is, _Marlene and Dorcas are together?_

"Which part?" Marlene drawls, rolling her eyes in exasperated annoyance as she places her hands on her hips.

"You and Dorcas are dating?" Hermione asks dumbly, gathering her shawl more securely around her as the wind picks up.

The two witches are standing on the front porch of the Manor, as this is where Marlene had dragged Hermione so they could have a word in private.

Marlene had stormed into Hermione's room ten minutes ago, a fierce hailstorm as she curtly greeted Remus—who was in a partial state of undress since he was in the middle of changing. Marlene barely spared Remus a passing look before she turned her unsettling focus on Hermione.

Hermione was in the process of tying her hair back in a ponytail, but that didn't faze Marlene. The witch merely reached out, grabbed ahold of Hermione by her elbow, and forcefully tugged Hermione behind her.

"Hello to you too, Marlene!" Echoed out behind them, but Marlene was clearly focused, as she didn't even stop to make a snippy quip as she normally would.

Which is how the two witches ended up on the front porch as Marlene tersely informed Hermione of the details of how she'd spent her prior night. Namely, soothing a blubbering Alice who had showed up at Marlene and Dorcas's flat last night.

A lock of hair blows into Hermione's eyes, and absently she reaches up to tuck it behind her ear before folding her arms over her chest once more. It is all in vain, as another kick of breeze flies across them, sending more hair into Hermione's face—so she turns into the wind and jerkily moves her head so that the hair flies over her shoulder. The only thing is now the wind is assaulting her corneas, and tears prick the corner of her eyes as they begin to water.

"Honestly, Granger. I come here, and tell you that Alice—fucking—Longbottom burst into my home last night _unannounced_ , in a full blown panic because she is _pregnant_ , and she is worried about that _stupid_ prophecy you lot mentioned," Marlene says in a huff, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration.

The blonde begins to pace back and forth, her hands moving about as if she doesn't know what to do with them, an irritated look on her face.

"So...Alice is pregnant, and you're dating Dorcas Meadowes?" Hermione repeats slowly, trying to wrap her mind around all of the new information being catapulted her way all at once.

"Aren't you supposed to be intelligent to some degree?" Marlene asks, her tone frigid and as jagged as a serrated knife. Marlene harshly marches towards Hermione, and comes to a halt mere inches away from her. The tall witch slightly bends at the middle and Hermione finds herself adrift as she gazes into Marlene's deep cerulean blue eyes; she is plunged into the darkest depths of the ocean.

Marlene's wavy long locks are thrown up into a messy updo of sorts, the underside of her eyes is an ashen colour, and her face is a tad puffy. It is only then that Hermione notices that Marlene's eyes are red-rimmed, and her lip is quivering. Outwardly she is holding herself together—artfully masking the fact that she'd been up bawling her eyes out with Alice and Dorcas right up until she stepped through the floo to come here.

"Alice is pregnant."

"Bloody hell, you sound like a broken record," Marlene makes an infuriated noise, straightening out and crossing her arms over her chest, but it looks more like she's hugging herself in silent comfort.

"There _isn't_ a prophecy this time around, and if there is...then," Hermione frowns. They'd never considered the possibility that the prophecy _did_ exist in this dimension, or even that a completely _different_ prophecy could be foretold. An exposed wire is in her mind, sending out random spurts of anxious sparks. Hermione shakes thoughts of unforetold prophecies, and calmly says, "prophecies don't _have_ to come to fruition, you and I both know that."

Marlene snorts, "you try telling that to a hysterical pregnant lady."

"Does Frank know?"

"No, not yet, she's going to tell him today," Marlene supplies. Then as if realising she'd made a grave error, Marlene gently shakes her head, "I don't know why I came here. For _some_ reason I figured you may be able to calm her down, or assure her that her world isn't imploding."

That gave Hermione pause. "Me?" Hermione asks incredulously.

"Yes," Marlene sighs tiredly, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"Why do you think _I'll_ be able to help her? Alice and I hardly know each other," Hermione says, eyes widening. "I highly doubt my presence will do anything to assuage her fears."

"You knew her son in your dimension did you not? Didn't I hear you tell her that he was your first friend at Hogwarts?" Marlene asks brusquely, and her foot taps against the hardwood impatiently as she awaits Hermione's response.

"How did—" Hermione begins, but Marlene waves her arms sharply through the air.

"That is not important," Marlene interjects.

Hermione thinks back to the day she told Alice that: it was after they'd had the meeting in the Drawing Room and told everyone about the horcruxes. Right before Alice left, she asked Hermione if they could talk in private for a second, and Hermione had readily indulged the witch. They'd stepped out of the room, into the empty corridor. Alice began to play with the ends of her cropped tresses, and nervously asked Hermione about Neville.

 _Marlene was eavesdropping_ , Hermione comes to the sudden realisation, and instead of calling Marlene out on her sneaky behaviour, she quietly listens to the former Slytherin speak.

"I don't say this very often, but please, can you at least _try_?" Marlene asks, and her cold exterior crumbles into a crestfallen expression. The witch just looks so _tired_.

"Okay, I'll try."

The moment Hermione steps through the floo into Alice and Frank's living room, she's assaulted with a wave of warmth. Hermione doesn't even have a chance to say anything to Marlene before the witch sets off in search of Alice.

Which leaves Hermione to examine her surroundings. The instant hominess feels very reminiscent of the Gryffindor Common Room, but the colours are completely different. There is a wide cream couch that can six people can probably squish onto if they really tried, though someone might end up half in someone else's lap, or, Hagrid could comfortably fit on it.

The thought of the Half-Giant brings a smile to Hermione's face. She wishes she could interact with the Gamekeeper more, but alas, he is at Hogwarts which is Dumbledore's domain. It is an unspoken rule that once they don't step into his house, he will keep his nose out of their affairs. Though, who knows how long that accord is going to last. Plus, on top of that, Hagrid has blind, unwavering faith in Hogwarts Headmaster.

The room is quaint: there are two casement windows on the right side of the room (that are a fair distance apart, as there is enough room to fit two cream armchairs that have embroidered throw pillows and neatly folded, fluffy, crimson blankets adorning them) and they are several feet wide, but not very tall. The windows are covered by pearl coloured curtains—they even have the shimmer that is unique to the precious stone.

Hermione takes a few steps forward, but halts before she collides with the coffee table—it is made of lightly stained cherry wood, and its surface gleams and shines prettily. There is a stack of Prophet Newspapers right beside the coffee table, and an abandoned teacup—filled to the brim with fragrant black tea—is resting on the coffee table.

Hermione's eye twitches when she notices that the cup is a few inches away from a round, vermillion coloured coaster. Steam curls out of the cup. Hermione glances up at the mouth of the room, and she focuses to see if she can hear anything—she can hear sounds from somewhere else in the house, but not clearly.

Hermione bends down, her hands enclosing around the teacup, and she swiftly places it on the coaster. She narrows her eyes at the heat ring still present on the table, it'll hopefully fade away soon; it would be shame to ruin such a beautiful coffee table.

Hermione wanders over to the left side of the room which is covered in ornate bookshelves, and their height is just shy of the ceiling. The bookshelf Hermione is directly in front of has an assortment of odd knickknacks and things, but on one of the shelves is a line of family photographs, all varying sizes, but all in chestnut wooden frames.

Hermione's eyes are drawn to a picture of Frank twirling Alice around before he picks her up princess style. Alice is wearing an elegant dress with a fitted golden bodice, and a massive skirt that is made up several layers of sheer black fabric, but her feet are bare. The witch's hair is also much longer, and it comes halfway down her back.

Frank is wearing a simple black button down, with his sleeves rolled part of the way up his forearms, black trousers, and a pair of black dragonhide shoes. On the stone floor beside the pair are what Hermione guesses must be Frank's outer robes, which appear to be a bit more extravagant than the rest of his attire.

They don't look more than sixteen.

 _They must be in the Castle somewhere, but where?_ Hermione wonders, trying to determine where in Hogwarts the picture was taken. _I recognise that painting_ , Hermione thinks. On the wall behind them was a painting of a spindly man with a monocle, sitting in an emerald armchair that is framed with ornate golden millwork. The man has pried himself away from the thick tome on his lap to curiously peer at Frank and Alice.

"Hermione?" A meek voice asks from Hermione's right, and instantly her nerves are set on edge. Hermione mentally scolds herself for snooping as she turns to face an uneasy looking Alice.

Alice's dark brown eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, she is wearing an oversized Puddlemere United jersey, her legs are entirely bare, which leads Hermione to think Alice may not be wearing any trousers. Alice's toes wriggle on her shaggy, white carpet (Hermione thinks that is an awfully bold choice, but recalls that there are stain repellant charms in the same train of thought).

Marlene appears around the corner behind her, but stops in the doorway. She gestures above Alice's head for a moment, and Hermione frowns, but then Marlene is gesturing behind her and begins to back away. _I suppose that means she's leaving then_.

"This is a lovely home you have here, Alice," Hermione smiles gently.

"Thank you," Alice's own smile is wan. The witch's hands are held up in front of her, and she anxiously fiddles with her hands for a moment before asking, "can I get you something? Tea? Some water..." Alice trails off uncertainly.

"I'm fine, thank you," Hermione says politely. Truthfully she is a bit peckish, as the day is tiring and it isn't far off from supper. Hermione hears a noise and concludes that it must be Marlene leaving the house.

Alice extends her hand towards the couch, "well then. Marlene says you wish to talk."

Hermione rounds the coffee table, and smoothes her skirt under her before she sits down on the couch. She instantly sinks into the couch, and it is a bit like it's trying to swallow her whole. She quickly determines that there is no way to be taken seriously whilst seated on this couch; one fumbles the entire time to maintain an upright position, so you simply look very slouchy.

"Marlene told me..." Hermione starts, adjusting her position for the third time as Alice perches herself on the edge of the coffee table. The witch's shoulders are drawn in, and her hands are sandwiched in between her thighs, and Alice looks somewhere past Hermione, her eyes glossy with unshed tears.

"Ah," Alice nods, inhaling deeply, and straightening herself out, her hands coming to rest on top of her thighs. Alice swallows thickly before looking Hermione directly in the eye. "I normally don't freak out like this...I like to think I'm a level-headed person...but this—" Alice gestures absently to her abdomen, and then all around her, "—this terrifies me."

Hermione clenches her teeth together as she scotches forward on the couch, struggling with the cushion currently trying to ingest her, until she is sat as far forward as she can be. Hermione quietly takes Alice's hands, but doesn't say anything.

Alice tips her head upwards, and blinks rapidly, "I'm trying not to cry again. It's all I've been doing all darn day."

"Okay, how about we talk about something else?" Hermione suggests kindly, squeezing Alice's hands.

"Mad-Eye just gave me a promotion," Alice smiles weakly, lowering her face to look at Hermione once more. Alice drinks in a shuddering breath before continuing, "and soon I'll have to stop going into work because I can't be pregnant and an Auror...especially not during a bloody War."

"No, I suppose you can't," Hermione responds, ignoring the fact that she has an itch just below her eye.

The witches sit in silence for a time, Alice breathing in and out deeply, and Hermione just holds the other witch's hands and waits until the brown haired girl wishes to speak some more. Before that time can come however, there's a distinct _click_ that comes from somewhere else in the house, and loudly a voice says, "Alice? I'm home! Sorry I'm late! Stopped by Mum's on the way here!"

Alice's eyes widened, and in a bit of a panic she looks at Hermione for direction. Hermione shrugs animatedly.

"I don't know if I'm ready to tell him," Alice admits, her complexion turning a horrendously ashen hue.

Hermione stands up, and let go of Alice's hands only to firmly grip her shoulders, "you can do this. I _believe_ in you. It may be a _dreadful_ time to get pregnant, but you can do this. You can _both_ do this."

"What about the prophecy?" Alice asks. That question is truly what frightens her. That question is what has her in a full tizzy.

"Fuck it. _You_ shape your own destiny. Plus, I am not going to let anything happen to you, you are going to survive this war. I will do _everything_ in my power to ensure that," Hermione promises, fixing Alice with an earnest stare.

" _Alice?_ " Comes Frank's voice—it's growing louder by the moment.

Hermione should not be making promises she knows she cannot keep, but she makes it regardless. She doesn't know why she does it, but she can't help herself. Perhaps because she truly believes it to be true. Hermione isn't going to let a damn thing happen to Alice if she can help it.

After a few moments, the mousey haired witch shakily nods, biting down on her bottom lip, "okay."

"Alice?" Frank calls out as he strolls into the living room, freezing when he sees the back of Hermione. Hermione cannot see him, but from Alice's expression she gathers that he's drawn his wand, and mentally Hermione curses. This must look awfully suspicious. "Let go of her."

Hermione relinquishes her hold on Alice, and in a painfully slow manner she rights herself. Thankfully, Alice forcefully exclaims, "Godric, Frank. It's Hermione!"

"Hermione?" Frank repeats dumbfounded, instantly lowering his wand. "Blimey, sorry. I should have recognised you...with your hair and whatnot."

Hermione shakes her head, turning on her heel to face Frank, "you came home, your fiancée wasn't responding to you, and you found her with what you perceived to be a threat. I would have done the exact same thing."

"What's going on?" Frank frowns, strolling into the room whilst unbuttoning his outer robes, "is something wrong? Are you feeling worse than you did this morning?" Frank asks in concern as he kneels down in front of Alice.

Alice laughs lightly, and with one hand she cradles his face, and the other she strokes through his curly, blond hair, "I'm fine, honestly...but I have a bit of a...surprise for you."

"A surprise?"

"I think that's my cue to leave," Hermione interjects softly, "everything is going to be okay. I promise." Hermione directs her last comment at Alice, which leaves Frank with a furrowed brow.

"Thank you, Hermione," Alice says, with a genuine smile, and she looks a lot more like herself—her entire mood has lifted, and she seems much more calm and at peace with herself.

"I'll see you two later," Hermione says as she makes her way to the fireplace. The fireplace is made up of rustic red bricks that are neatly fitted together to form a fine piece of masonry work.

Alice and Frank's cottage truly fits in well with its bucolic setting. The only thing Hermione had known about it before today was that it was somewhere in the countryside not too far away from Godric's Hollow, and that Augusta lived just a little ways down the road from her son.

Hermione wastes no time in grabbing a fistful of floo powder from the bag of it secured to the side of the fireplace. The witch gingerly steps into the firebox, and pivots around until she is facing the living room once more. Alice and Frank are both watching her go, and Hermione sends them a small wave before she tosses the floo powder onto the floor of the firebox.

Whilst Hermione clearly says, "Potter Manor!" a whooshing sound kicks up as the powder sparks into an eruption of green flames. Hermione is gone in an instant, leaving Alice to inform Frank of how their lives were about to change forever.

Hermione wearily leaves the Drawing Room, and whilst Potter Manor is warm, it is nowhere near as toasty as Frank and Alice's cottage, so the cold creeps into the soles of her bare feet. Hermione draws her shawl around her more securely as she makes her way towards her bedroom.

Once she reaches the top of the staircase however, she pauses.

Instead of heading to her room to snuggle up with her mate, she decides instead to stop a few doors down.

Without knocking, without calling out, or making any other announcements of her presence, Hermione pushes open Harry's slightly ajar door. She finds Harry, Ron and Emmeline spread out on Harry's bed, all looking well chuffed with themselves.

An image of Harry in throes of agony a few weeks ago, deathly pale and begging her to kill him flashes through her mind, but she shakes it off.

All of the room's occupants turn to look at her, but as soon as Harry and Ron catch sight of her, their smiles die.

"Em, could you give us a moment, please?" Harry requests of the former Ravenclaw, leaning forward to brush his lips across her cheek.

Emmeline smiles at the random act of affection, and toys with the ends of her frosty hair. "Of course," Emmeline nods, crawling off of Harry's bed, and she makes for the door—not before throwing Harry a wink and a bright grin over her shoulder. Which, obviously leaves Harry a blushing mess.

Emmeline pauses by Hermione long enough to squeeze her arm in comfort and send a tiny smile her way, and then she's gone, and Hermione suddenly feels like screaming until her throat is raw.

Instead, she takes a few steps into the room before halting. Ron grabs his wand, and waves it whilst muttering several incantations, and Harry's bedroom door slams shut. Which causes them all to flinch, but after they take a moment to compose themselves, they are all fine. Ron then proceeds to throw up locking and silencing charms.

Hermione wants _nothing_ more than to scream, but in place of that she chooses to say in an even and steady voice, "things just got slightly more complicated."


	62. A Risky Decision

**Happy Tuesday lovelies!**

 **I'm still a bit in shock right now because this story hit 1k reviews yesterday, which is bloody _insane_. THANK YOU. I don't have the words.**

 **I think some people have been waiting for what's going to happen in the next couple chapters.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for Sable and Lais xxx**

* * *

"It's a bloody inconvenient time to get knocked up, isn't it?" Ron states, and Hermione shoots him a withering stare.

" _Thank you_ for stating the obvious, Ronald," Hermione says dryly. "I didn't see you telling Molly it was a ' _bloody inconvenient time to get knocked up_ '."

The two witch's situations are entirely different, and she knows it. Whilst no one is truly safe during times of war, Alice is constantly on the front lines—in the face of danger on a daily basis.

Ron sighs heavily, "you know what I mean. She is a newly-minted Auror, and an active member in the Order. She is right in the thick of the war."

(Due to the intensity of the War picking up, Moody had shortened the Auror program from two years to one, but it just meant it was _far_ more gruelling. Frank and Alice on separate occasions had both recounted how taxing and brutal it was.)

"I know. Fuck. I _know_ ," Hermione groans, her face in her hands.

The witch is pacing back and forth as if she is trying to wear straight through the hardwood floors. She halts in her tracks when Harry calls out her name, and gently suggests that she join them on Harry's bed.

Hermione blows out a noise in frustration and then crosses over to Harry's bed. The witch climbs onto it and then immediately flops onto her side; her nerves are sparking with anxious energy, and she's trying not to over think things—she is far too emotionally fatigued for that.

"You mentioned she is worried about the prophecy?" Ron queries.

Hermione tucks her hands under her chin, closes her head and tiredly replies, "yes. More specifically she's worried that her baby will be the one of the prophecy...like he could have been last time."

"Riddle isn't even aware of the prophecy until…Snape brings it to his attention," Ron says, raking his hands through his short hair and grimacing.

Snape is a touchy subject amongst them: for the most part Harry wishes to absolve the man of all his sins and personal affronts to their persons, Hermione's personal point of view on the man is that his treatment of them when they were growing up was absolutely abhorrent, but she also acknowledges that they couldn't have won the war without him—that he played a crucial part in keeping Harry safe. Then there is no love lost between Ron and Snape, but he views the man in a somewhat similar light as Hermione.

Harry clears his throat, swallows audibly and then says, "we haven't…we haven't really discussed Snape…not since our first couple of weeks here."

Hermione groans, "for good reason, he's an unpredictable variable…we don't know if _this_ Snape will regret his choices enough to want to become a turncoat. Plus, Lily—or more accurately, her child—currently does not have a target painted on her back by a Dark Lord."

"Yet," Harry adds.

"Thank you for your optimism, Harry," Hermione grumbles, burrowing into Harry's bed, still refusing to open her eyes. She truly does not like the direction this conversation is going, because she knows _exactly_ where it will lead.

"Lay off, Mione. He's right. We have no idea what is going to happen," Ron points out gravely, and she suspects it's his tone that irks her.

Hermione's eyes snap open, and she flies upwards, and in a flash she is in Ron's face and her hands are grasping fistfuls of his soft, baby blue cotton shirt. " _That_ is what scares me. There are _so_ many unknowns, Ron."

Hermione's lip quivers, and her entire body sags in defeat as the anger flees her body as quickly as it had come. Ron wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his chest, and instantly one of his hands rubs soothing circles across the expanse of her back. Hermione can't help the choked sobs that subsequently escape her lips.

"We should at least try…he would be an invaluable asset," Harry says after a few terse moments, and Hermione feels the bed shift as Harry crawls closer, and then he's petting her head and making shushing noises.

 _If he's on our side, if not he would be a most irksome force to be reckoned with_ , Hermione thinks sourly, but does not voice her opinion aloud.

"He would….how are we going to find him?" Ron asks.

Hermione pulls back just enough to look at Harry, "that is a good point, how are we going to find him? Say we decide to take this _massive_ risk, where do we even begin to look for him?"

Harry's hand stills on top of her head, and his almond-shaped, bright green eyes flicker for a moment as he considers something.

"What? What is it?" Hermione queries all while sniffling softly. Silent tears are still streaming down her cheeks but she ignores them.

"I have an idea on how we can find him," Harry says, and his brow draws together in thick contemplation. The raven haired boy's nose scrunches upwards and his lips press together with the corners turning down slightly.

"Okay, well let's hear it!" Ron exclaims, and Hermione winces at the sharp and sudden noise. Ron winces and instantly stumbles over an apology.

"Regulus."

"Sorry? Did you just say Regulus?" Ron asks, and there's a protective edge to his tone when he says the wizard's name.

 _When did that happen?_ Hermione wonders briefly. Perhaps she truly hadn't been spending enough time with the boys as of late; she'd have to make much more of an effort. After all, juggling a multitude of responsibilities, tasks and people is not a foreign concept to the witch.

"You think he knows where Snape is?" Hermione asks with a quirked brow, and she removes one of her hands from Ron's shirt to swipe away the remainder of the tears brimming in her eyes.

"I think we should at least ask him. If _anyone_ knows where Snape is, surely it would be Regulus. He was one of Snape's closest... _friends_ , if you could call them that," Harry answers, but his face puckers with doubt and pensive thought. Hermione can tell he is losing faith in his initial assessment; they haven't met _this_ Snape. Even the tiniest of differences could make it so that he would willingly allow them all to burn—Lily included—to save his own hide.

"Then what are we waiting for, let's go talk to Regulus," Hermione exhales.

"Does that mean you want to try then?" Harry asks, trying to mask the glimmer of hope that is peeking through the cracks of his deep ponderation.

"I'll decide after we talk to Regulus. Perhaps Severus Snape can be persuaded to join our side."

Shortly thereafter, the Golden Trio had strolled down the hall, and knocked on Regulus's door, only to wait further before he cracked open the door and hesitantly asked them what they wanted. In his experience, it didn't usually bode well when all three of their shadows darkened one's doorway.

Warily he had allowed them inside, and wordlessly Regulus had listened to their proposition. To his credit, he also kept his face expressionless.

Finally, the only reaction to proposal is his grey eyes staring at them in utter disbelief as what they have requested sinks in. "You've got to be fucking joking? _Severus_?"

Hermione inadvertently flinches, and Regulus narrows his eyes at the action.

Regulus shifts his focus solely onto Ron, and raises an eyebrow, " _really_ , Weasley?"

"Yes, Reg. If there's a chance he might be able to help us, then we need to try."

"I highly doubt he'll deign to lift a finger to assist us in any form or fashion," Regulus snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. "I do know where he is if you truly wish to go and see him...but he _won't_ help you."

Hermione's lips turn up at the corner a smidge when Regulus said, ' _us_ ', but she doesn't think it apt to point that out to the wizard.

Hermione's tongue darts out of her mouth to swipe across her bottom lip. "Maybe he will," Hermione says with bold surety, and she raises her chin and puffs out her chest. Part of her starts to believe that maybe, just _maybe_ he actually will; even if a more rational part is shrieking and kicking in violent protest.

"If he doesn't, then I trust one of you knows how to properly obliviate someone," Regulus says, tilting his head back slightly, and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Harry and Ron both silently turn to Hermione, and tiny offended gasp comes from her parted lips. Hermione harrumphs, appearing deeply put out, but nods in the affirmative. However, for some reason she can't quite let things lie as they are, so she says, "that would be correct, I am quite proficient at memory charms."

Hermione whirls around on Harry and Ron, a bite to her tone as she locks eyes with Ron, "though, I should remind both of you, that _I_ am not the one who caused a man to forget _everything_ , including his own _name_."

"I blame my broken wand at the time," Ron shrugs, looking nonplussed and unfazed at Hermione's comment. The ginger scratches behind his ear, and his mouth opens as if he is about to yawn—and one eye squeezes shut—but he clearly fights it off.

"Your broken wand—" Regulus begins, releasing his nose and turning his full attention to Ron. He shoots the man a perplexed look, but moments later he adamantly shakes his head, and continues, "that's not important—"

"It was bloody brilliant to be fair," Harry jumps in, an impressed expression spread across his features as he reminiscences on the moment in question.

Curtly, Regulus discards Harry's nostalgic remark, and begins to speak again, "as I was saying, I will take you to Severus's cottage tomorrow if that is what you truly desire...but I cannot guarantee it will end in _your_ favour."

Ron beams at that comment, "I wouldn't worry your pretty head about us. I can't count the number of times the odds _haven't_ been in our favour. Usually it all works out in the end."

"You are unnaturally lucky." Regulus says, folding his hands across his chest as he takes a step in Ron's direction. "I trust you have a plan?"

"Nah, I figure we're going to wing it," Ron answers in a chipper tone and a dazzling grin.

Hermione internally groans, they haven't discussed a plan, _yet_. Though, oftentimes their plans often go up in smoke and they are left to play things by ear. Complications _always_ arise.

Regulus stares at Ron incredulously, as if questioning the ginger's sanity, "I'm officially convinced you three have a death wish. You are _actively_ searching for trouble, and you're just going to ' _wing it_ '. You _must_ be bloody Gryffindors."

"Through and through," Ron winks, lacing his fingers together behind his head.

Hermione and Harry both remain silent; curiously watching what could be construed as flirtatious banter passing back and forth between Regulus and Ron.

Regulus blinks blankly at Ron, his mouth curling into a half sneer, and he squints at the lion. It is as if he is examining some undiscovered species, and he isn't quite sure what to make of it.

"Granger, please tell me you've got something better than that. I won't assist a ruddy suicide mission, as you all willingly line up like pigs for slaughter." Regulus asks in exasperation, flinging his hands out to the side. "What's the plan then? To march in, partially prepared with no pre-planned course of action on how to proceed once you actually get there? Severus will hex you before you even get a word in edgewise."

Regulus looks between them, and then for emphasis, he decides to tack on, "It certainly doesn't help that _you_ look like his arch nemesis from his school days," the grey eyed boy jerks his chin in Harry's direction. The boy with the lightning scar grimaces at that, and quietly works his jaw as he chews on his thoughts.

Then, without warning, Hermione absently says, "we're going to need to ready our phials." She had only been half-listening to Regulus, since the gears had begun to turn in her head.

"Phials?" Regulus's eyes flick over to her and his expression smoothes out to an inscrutable blank tablet.

"Our memory phials," Hermione clarifies.

"He wasn't here when we took everyone through our memories—I can show you later if you want," Ron offers, and Regulus's eyes shift back to him.

"I think you meant to say tonight, because as it stands, with your piss poor planning you may not be capable of doing so after tomorrow."

"You almost sound _worried_ about my well-being," Ron teases, "what? Are you going to miss me?"

Regulus sputters at the suggestion, blinking so rapidly that his long and dark eyelashes threaten to fly off his face at any given moment, " _no!_ " Regulus blurts out, but the pink tips of his ears belie his protestation.

"Alright, I think we've strayed far enough from our original topic, so what do you say we get back to the task at hand?" Hermione interjects, clapping her hands together. The abrupt noise causes Ron and Harry to flinch harshly, and for a moment Harry looks like he may dash in the opposite direction. Regulus however gathers himself and regains his composure.

"Harry, Ron and I will organise all the pertinent memories that we may need. In addition, we should probably add in any of the ones we may have previously excluded that pertain to Snape in particular."

Ron raises his hand, like a schoolboy patiently waiting to be called on by their Professor.

"Yes, Ronald?"

"Am I allowed to include some of the ones that blatantly show Snape being a sodding prick?"

Hermione rolls her eyes, "no. Remember we're going there to get him on our side, not guarantee that he actively works _against_ us."

"Exactly. We ought to show him what a shite person he was to his students, and maybe it will make him want to repent," Ron says seriously.

"Or, it will only serve to exacerbate the situation," Regulus groans, bowing his head as to avoid looking at _any_ of them.

"He did try to punish Neville by threatening to feed Neville's failed potion to his toad—Trevor, Neville's familiar," Ron points out, "not to mention tormenting Neville on a whole. Fuck. He tormented _all_ of us."

"Granted...fine. You get _one_ memory of Snape behaving like a prat," Hermione concedes.

"It's going to be hard to choose just one—" Ron starts, but Harry cuts him off.

"Ron. That's enough. _Our_ Snape was a bitter man twisted and broken by his circumstances—"

"Dabbled in dark magic and created Sectumsempra when he was still in school," Ron whispers under his breath, but everyone dutifully ignores his comment.

"He was also riddled with regret about his choices. If we have an opportunity to change things so that he _doesn't_ become that man, then we need to bloody take it," Harry says, a harsh bite to his tone that hisses and sizzles as it strikes.

"I'm not disagreeing with you, mate. Just saying that maybe being faced with proper proof and evidence of the man he might become, may help deter him from continuing down this path," Ron responds, his own tone calm and serene, much like a lake that is so still it appears to be polished glass.

"Plus, Severus Snape has never struck me as a man who would want to be considered a hero or martyr...and he would _especially_ not want our pity. So we have to be cognisant of that as well," Ron finishes.

 _He does have a point_ , Hermione begrudgingly admits to herself.

Harry nods slowly, mulling it all over as he carefully says, "just pick _one_ , and we'll work from there. Either way, it's getting late, so we should get to work."

"Agreed, I think we should focus more on the things that originally drove him to switch sides," Hermione suggests.

Ron rubs his neck, "yea, you're right. That should be the priority. Sorry, I guess I got a little carried away."

Hermione smiles faintly, "it's fine. He wasn't the kindest to us, so it's perfectly reasonable that part of that underlying contempt you hold for him bled through."

"Wouldn't call it contempt exactly..." Ron's brow furrows as his hands drop to his sides, and absently he scratches his thigh before he shoves his hands into his trouser pockets. "I'll admit that he was a brave man...and if he didn't make the sacrifices that he did, I may or may not be standing here right now. All that being said, it doesn't change the fact that he was a right terror as a Professor."

"Maybe don't tell him that tomorrow," Harry sighs, "whichever angle we decide to go at this from, I think we should stick to sharing the least amount of information that we can. In case things _do_ happen to go sideways."

Ron noiselessly nods, his eyes now cast towards the floor as he unblinkingly stares at some errant spot.

Hermione inhales deeply, "so it's settled then. In the morning, we're going to pay Severus Snape a much overdue visit."


	63. Lilium Cottage

**Haaappy Wednesday lovelies!**

 **This is probably going to be the last daily update I do for a while since I've caught up to all my pre-written chapters. I didn't get quite as far as I wanted to this month, but I think seven chapters short of my goal isn't _that_ bad. I'm also so happy everyone's enjoying this story thus far x**

 **Can I just say that I am overjoyed that everyone is liking Ron and Regulus as much as I am! The slowest of side pairings burns that there is LOL.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

 **As always for SableUnstable (especially on this most glorious day) and Lais xxx**

* * *

 **Saturday, September 15th, 1979**

 **Potter Manor**

Uneasiness in the pit of her stomach rouses her from her restless sleep. The sun's ascension is only now beginning, and the dawn of a new day bleeds into the sky.

Hermione twists in her mate's arms to press a chaste kiss to his cheek, before she slips out of his grasp entirely; thus drawing him from his own slumber. She smoothly rolls off the bed and lands on her feet, brushing her messy curls over her shoulder—it certainly isn't going to be fun trying to wrangle them into some semblance of order.

"Mornin'," Remus mumbles, his long limbs grabbing a hold of her pillow and burrowing into it as a placeholder in her absence. "Where you goin'?" Remus yawns into the pillow, smacking his lips together as he pries his eyes open. Hermione's heart melts at the sight of her sleepy, ruffled Remus.

Hermione firmly plants one hand on the mattress, and she uses it to rest her weight on as she leans down to press her lips to Remus's. When the witch pulls away, there is a dreamy sort of look on his face, and she resists the urge to tease him about it.

"I'll be back shortly, I promise," Hermione whispers, and the wizard makes a humming noise at the back of his throat in acknowledgement.

"Okay...don't be gone too long, I love you," Remus says, scrunching his nose as he fights to keep his eyes open.

"I love you too," Hermione smiles gently, dropping another swift kiss to his lips. She pauses and takes him in as he drifts back off into the land of dreams, and she brushes some of his hair off of his forehead.

There is a slight tinge of guilt bouncing around in her noggin as she straightens up; Hermione has been at war with whether to inform Remus of her plans for the day or not, and in the end after weighing it all out she came to the conclusion that it would be best to tell him when she gets back.

Hermione creeps out of Remus's room like a burglar making away with irreplaceable valuables who does not wish to stir any of the dwelling's occupants.

The Golden trio had retired at an abysmal hour the night prior, tirelessly prepping with their 'meeting' (if one could call it that) with Snape today. Harry turned in first, and then Hermione had had a hushed argument with Ron about assisting as he finished organising all the phials in chronological order, but the ginger insisted that he would be fine; unbeknownst to her, Ron didn't even bother going to sleep.

The plan is to meet in Ron's room and then head over to Regulus's, and from there they are going to apparate to Lilium Cottage—Snape's humble abode.

Hermione heads back to her own room for a hasty, scalding hot shower—it's as if she's hoping that the water will evaporate any nerves or anxiety that she has. She drags her fingers through her curls to untangle them best as she can before she coats it in copious amounts of conditioner.

A few minutes later she's out of the shower, and standing in front of her chest of drawers—normally she would turn off the water and sit in her shower as the conditioner soaked into her hair, but alas, she hadn't the time today.

Hermione's thoughts lay waste to her mental landscape as she begins to get dressed; for some reason the uneasiness has returned, and is surging up inside of her. She supposes it's because she understands the stakes much better this time around, but even scolding herself under her breath does nothing to mollify the unfavourable line of thought progression that is marching through her mindscape.

Hermione's hair is still damp as she makes her way to Ron's room. When she arrives, she halts in front of the door, takes a deep breath, and then raps her knuckles against the wooden surface.

Hermione can hear movement on the other side of the door, and before she can twist the doorknob, the door flies inwards.

Hermione enters the room, and purses her lips at the scene she finds: Harry James Potter is lying on his back, spread out like a starfish on Ron's bedroom floor. There is a sound light droning in her ears that she can't quite place, but she discards it from her mind and instead chooses to focus on Harry.

The wizard in question absently waves his hand, and the door shuts a touch harshly behind her—Hermione stiffens as the sounds reverberates in her ears. Then, as if waking from a daze, Harry's head jerks towards her, and with wide eyes he says, "morning, Mione."

"Why is it that I always find you in strange positions on a morning? What _exactly_ are you doing?" Hermione frowns, strolling towards her best mate. It is odd behaviour like this that causes Hermione to think that perhaps there is a good reason why Harry and Luna used to get on so well. There is a pang of sadness as she recalls the dirty blonde haired witch with wide, pale eyes and an ethereal way about her; Luna always has a way of easing a dismal situation and making things seem far better than they actually are.

Hermione tilts her head, places her hands on her hips and curiously gazes down at Harry as she awaits his response.

"I'm thinking," Harry says as he tears his eyes from her, and instead stares blankly at the cream ceiling.

"About Snape?"

"No...it's not really important."

"Harry Potter."

A long pause, and in the brief lull in conversation, Hermione realises that the sound she'd been hearing is running water, and from that she concludes that Ron is in the shower. She'd been so caught up in Harry looking like a lost puppy that she hadn't noticed Ron's absence.

"Emmeline."

The witch and wizard have been twisting around each other in an elaborate dance, where neither has confessed their feelings or made their 'arrangement' official, _despite_ both parties desperately wishing to leap off the cliff together and vocalise how they _feel_ about one another.

" _Ah_ ," Hermione smiles gently, crouching down beside Harry, and reaching out to affectionately stroke his cheek with the back of her hand. Harry closes his eyes, and exhales forcefully through his nostrils. Hermione knows that Harry has never been much good with girls, but he just needs a nudge in the right direction and he can oft handle himself from there; she makes a mental note to do just that if this stalemate persists.

Hermione lowers herself to the ground, and shifts about until she is stretched out on her back beside Harry—careful to flip her still damp hair above her head as to not trap it beneath her. The wizard's smell only grows stronger as she gets closer, and her nostrils are filled with the scent of pine trees, of the forest, and the clean smell of soap; much like hers, Harry's hair is still damp.

The pair doesn't have to wait long before the bathroom door swings inwards, and Ron languidly saunters into the room. The ginger has a fluffy white towel secured around his hips, and there is a smaller one in his left hand that he is idly rubbing across his head in an attempt to dry his tresses.

"Morning, Mione. Sleep well last night?" Ron greets in a jolly fashion, heading directly for his cupboard.

"I suppose," Hermione lies, and from the knowing look Ron shoots her, he clearly catches it, but refrains from commenting on it.

"Good, with that being said, I'm going to throw on some clothes and then we'll be good to go."

Hermione can't help her eyes from raking along Ron's figure from across the room, well, truthfully she is taking in all of his scars. Out of the three of them, Ron may actually have the most, but as they've never sat down to properly compare, that is of course only an assumption on her part.

Sighing softly, Hermione rolls onto her side to face Harry, and snuggles into his side. Harry lifts up for a moment only to wrap his arm around her in order to pull her in closer.

Ron deftly pulls on some black pants, faded blue jeans and a black and white, short-sleeved collared shirt. Wordlessly the ginger strides over to them, and then silently joins them on the ground on Hermione's other side; he slings an arm over Hermione and his face ducks into the crook of her neck as he gets comfy.

They just lay there, with no indication from any member in the trio that they are going to move anytime in the near future.

After some time, Harry offers, "we'll go in a few minutes..."

"Yes...but let's just...stay here for a moment," Hermione replies, eyes still closed.

They did in fact stay in the same position for almost fifteen minutes before Ron gently prodded the other two into getting up. The sun has chased away most of the darkness, and its rays are reaching out to them through Ron's wide windows.

Thus, the three wix take great care to make little to no noise as they make haste over to Regulus's room. Grey eyes squint at them as they enter: the wizard is sitting up in his bed, but his sheets are still pulled up to his midsection, and the heaviness of sleep is still present in his limbs as his whole body is slumped forward.

Regulus grumbles and swears under his breath as he throws back his sheets and crawls out of bed.

Tiredly Regulus scratches his head and takes hold of his wand—it is awaiting its master on his bedside table—with his free hand.

"I hope you three know what you're doing—I'm only awake enough to side-along one of you there...whoever it is can come back for the others," Regulus informs them, and the trio all nod their heads in understanding. Then in a jerky motion he looks directly at Ron and says, "come on, Weasley. Let's get this over with."

* * *

Shortly thereafter, the quartet stands on a gentle hill, the incline so slight one may be persuaded to refer to it as a mound. The tips of the vibrant green glass brush against Hermione's ankle bones and the wind is but a susurrus in her ears.

Before them is a quaint yet plain cottage: the exterior brick face has been painted white, with brown trims that bring to mind a gooey dark chocolate. The windows are tall, thin and sparsely spaced about the circumference of the building, and from here Hermione can see that the drapes are all drawn. An interesting note is that there are white rose bushes framing the front of the house on either side of the front door's stoop; another intriguing fact is that there is no path up to the house.

"I think you lot can manage just fine from here on your own," Regulus says, his head tilted upwards. He is staring at the sparse splashes of blue sky through the branches of the lone English Elm tree that towers up above them.

Regulus moves to leave, and Ron's hand shoots out and grips Regulus's shoulder just hard enough to stop him in his tracks. Regulus peers down at Ron's pale hand, and he shoots a severe stare over his shoulder at the ginger. "What is it, Weasley?"

"Thank you," Ron says, nodding curtly.

Regulus's shoulders rise as he draws in a deep breath, and he seems to savour it before he exhales leisurely. "I really hope you lot know what you are doing," Regulus says with a resigned sigh. "Keep in mind that just because he hasn't informed the Dark Lord or any of the others that I am still alive, _yet_ , he might be inclined to if your little _meeting_ goes south."

Harry smiles sardonically, his gaze affixed upon the small cottage, "for some reason, I don't think it will. If it does...then we'll obliviate him, and it will all be simply a forgotten memory."

The witch and the other two wizards present shoot varying levels of perplexed looks Harry's way, as if trying to decipher the cryptic, almost aloof way in which he is speaking.

"Mate, you alright?" Ron asks.

Harry simply nods. His companions share a look between them, and Regulus decides to add on something else before he departs, " _your_ Severus may have switched sides and become a 'hero' or whatever, but _my_ Severus is nothing like that man. Severus is..." Regulus's brow draws together in an exasperated knot as he tries to find the words to continue.

Regulus's head is bowed as he continues, and his words are low and he raptly captures their attention, "Severus is filled with a lot of pain. I'm not saying yours wasn't, but mine is still carrying it all inside of him. All of that raw anger and pain is still boiling in his gut and he has no outlet in which to expound it. Not to mention that he doesn't possess any of that lovely concoction of remorse or regret that yours may have had."

Regulus's head raises, and there is a mocking smile on his face that exposes his canines. A snort of bemused disbelief escapes him. "I may be wrong, but that is _my_ take on the whole situation given the few facts that you've let slip about _your_ Severus. Although as I have little to no information on _your_ Severus, you could possibly discard everything I just said, as it could just be utter nonsense, as opposed to a just conclusion."

Regulus's body stiffens as he finishes speaking, as if realising that he'd said far more than he'd intended to.

"I guess there's only one way to find out," Hermione says quietly. _I hope this isn't a terrible idea_ , Hermione thinks for the umpteenth time.

Ron relinquishes his hold on Regulus, his mouth parts as if he has something to say, but it firmly clamps shut but a moment later. Ron turns away from Regulus, but the wizard has other ideas as he gruffly grabs onto Ron's forearm. The moment electric blue meets the swirl of ashes and smoke, Regulus fixes Ron with an intense look and says, "be _careful_."

"I'm always careful," Ron smirks, placing a hand on top of Regulus's.

Regulus does not budge an inch, nor does he appear to breathe for several moments, and then his mouth twitches and he jerks away from Ron.

"I don't believe that for a second," Regulus replies with an uncomfortable rigidity in his tone, and he is holding himself in a stiff sort of way, much like a tin toy that has rusted into one position, and is desperately weeping as it waits to be oiled.

When Regulus leaves, he makes barely a sound. There is no telltale crack of apparition, more so there is a murmuration that surrounds them before simply slipping away; leaving the Golden Trio all alone, staring at a remote cottage, and hoping that this isn't a _dreadful idea_.


	64. Only Time Will Tell

**Hello lovelies!**

 **This chapter is _long_ (I've only ever had one other 10k chapter for one of my other stories), and it's mainly due to the canon lines/scenes in this chapter. It's also been _far_ too long since I last updated, so I'm dreadfully sorry about that. Hopefully you enjoy this chapter, even though it will seem like the Golden trio is insane.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you think xxx**

 **My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.**

* * *

The sound of Hermione's galloping heart is thundering in her ears. The witch's fingers lightly trail across the white brick of Severus Snape's abode as she creeps forward—she is keeping as low as she possibly can in order to stay out of sight.

The grass whistles softly under the golden trio's feet as they progress towards the entrance in a single file: Ron is leading the charge, Harry is in the middle, and Hermione is bringing up the rear. Hermione grips her wand just that much tighter when they reach the two steps that will carry them up to the landing and the front door.

Ron cautiously ascends onto the landing, and then pauses. The ginger haired wizard peers over his shoulder at his two companions, and they both nod their heads, giving him permission to proceed.

The door is slender, painted a murky, dark green, there is a cast iron knocker in the shape of a snake eating its tail, and a polished steel ovular door knob, but, thankfully there are no glass panes.

Hermione desperately hopes that they have the element of surprise; she doesn't think Snape will listen to them any other way. There is an odd sensation pulsing in her gut, and she's praying that it doesn't have a deeper meaning.

With practiced ease Ron non-verbally casts an ' _alohomora_ ', and the door softly clicks open. Hermione winces when the door creaks and groans gently as Ron carefully pushes it inwards.

The trio freezes, waits for a long, pregnant moment, and when nothing happens they straighten up with their wands at the ready and enter into the dimly lit foyer.

On their left as soon as you walk in the door is a narrow corridor that leads into a harsh darkness, and the foyer is a small, squashed room that is bare save for a full length mirror that is hanging on the wall directly opposite the front door.

Harry and Ron are hovering at the corridor's mouth, indecision on whether to enter the unknown clearly playing a part in their hesitation.

Hermione shifts her eyes in order to see better—the corridor clears up instantly, and she can see all the way down it—and she is about to join Harry and Ron when a hard slightly rounded tip presses against the right side of her head.

"I knew I shouldn't have trusted him," a voice says from behind Hermione. It appears that there is no need to venture down the narrow corridor, as the owner of this _pleasant_ little cottage has come to them.

"Boys, it would appear that the welcome wagon has arrived," Hermione whispers, and she grimaces when what must be Severus Snape's wand tip grinds into her scalp.

"If that was meant to be amusing, I can assure you, it was not," Severus Snape sneers, and Hermione closes her eyes. This is all going swimmingly thus far. She really should have just kept her mouth shut.

Ron and Harry have not budged an inch since Snape made his presence known, and all Hermione can do is hope that Harry does _not_ turn around right now. She really does not wish to have her head blown off.

Some people tend to get emotional and irrational when faced with the visage of a person they loathe, and Hermione had a feeling that Severus would act before thinking when presented with a James Potter look-alike.

Hermione slowly pries her eyes open, and gets a good look in the mirror at the man behind her, she also sees the dark corner in which he must have lay in wait for them—they must have tripped his wards when they arrived.

This version of Severus is a bit of a shock: he still has greasy hair—which is tied back and out of his face—a hooked nose, dark, beady eyes, but there is no sorrow thinning out his face, and the frown lines on his forehead are severely reduced.

The wizard's features are angular, his chin a bit pointy, but there is a youthful tenderness to his face. The most intriguing detail is that she can sense the fire burning in his soul, as opposed to the cold indifference she'd gotten accustomed to in the older version of Snape that had taught her in school.

A flicker of motion however catches Hermione's attention. Ron raised both of his hands in surrender, whilst thankfully, Harry has remained as still as a statue.

"Don't move!" Severus commands, and his voice is deeper than she remembers, and there is also a nasal quality to it that she _certainly_ doesn't recall.

Ron and Harry obey his command, and if Hermione didn't know better, she would think that they aren't even breathing.

Hermione knows this will only go downhill from here if she doesn't _somehow_ get a grasp on this situation, so she cheerfully greets their unwitting host, "Severus. Is that anyway to treat guests?"

"No, but it is the way to treat _trespassers_ ," Severus snarls, his breath hot against her ear. She shudders. "Who are you? Order members?"

She can't help herself. A gay peal of laughter bursts out of her mouth.

The absurdity of the situation they've found themselves has finally caught up to Hermione. They—her more than anyone else—are currently at the mercy of a broody Death Eater who doesn't truly regret any of his life decisions thus far, in a dimension that does not originally belong to them, and they are attempting to convince him to become a double agent.

It's morbidly hilarious, because they've risked _everything_ , all in the naïve hope that deep down, this Severus's moral convictions will prevail—or more likely his self-preservation—and he will help them defeat Lord Voldemort.

Severus is seemingly taken aback by her manic laughter, as the pressure on her skull lightens. Hermione takes the precious opportunity she's been afforded and whirls around, only to press her own wand tip underneath his chin.

"I don't want to hurt you, Severus," Hermione informs him calmly, her other hand tightly gripping onto the lapel of his black robes.

There is fury thinly veiled in Severus's eyes, and his features contort into heavy contempt, but Hermione realises quickly that he isn't directing that ire at her.

The Death Eater's attention is gripped by the two wizards over her shoulder—from the look on Snape's face she surmises that they've both turned around. Snape's brow furrows, " _you._ You're the mysterious ginger wizard everyone's been talking about."

"Guilty," Ron shrugs, wand languidly pointing directly at Snape's forehead.

"Potter," Snape sneers, "collecting more filthy strays I see."

"I consider myself more of a well-kempt canine companion," Ron pipes up.

"Not the time, Ronald," Hermione growls, pressing her wand further into the soft flesh underneath Severus's chin when she catches him rolling his wand between his fingers; he ceases instantly.

"Harry Potter," Harry corrects softly.

"Don't take me for a fool, Potter. I don't know what game you're playing, but—" Snape's words cut out abruptly, and Hermione knows that he _sees_ them. The bright green, almond shaped eyes that Harry had gotten from his Mother.

"Who the fuck are you?" Snape spits in mild horror, his left eye twitching.

Hermione takes a risk: she lets go of Severus's robes, and reaches into her cloak—her fingers fumble about for a second before she finds what she's looking for—and withdraws one of the phials they'd brought with them.

"We can show you. If you let us that is."

Snape's gaze settles on her again, "you're the girl who was in Diagon Alley with Lily that day…" he says, but his eyes widen a fraction as if realising that that is a piece of information he did not wish to disclose.

 _So we_ _ **were**_ _being watched that day_ , Hermione muses.

Snape's dark eyes narrow at her, as if she is to blame for his unintentional confession. "What do you want, and how do I know that this isn't some ploy or trick?" Snape's eyes flick in Harry's direction for a brief moment.

"You don't, but you'll have to trust us," Harry says.

Snape snorts rudely.

"We want your help to defeat Voldemort," Hermione supplies, and she meets the wizard's glower head on.

"You're either very bold or very foolish to speak his name so callously without fear or hesitation," Snape comments, the corners of his lips curling.

"Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself," Harry interjected, and Hermione smiles softly. Dumbledore may be a sodding prick, but there is acute wisdom behind a lot of the things theirs had once said.

"Foolish it is," Snape murmurs. "Well I suppose that answers my earlier question then. Overt optimism and all that other rot must mean you're Order members."

"Things aren't quite as black and white as that," Hermione says, and Snape's face is swirling with a mixture of doubt and disgust.

The light from outside is shining onto Severus's back, and his features are heavily cast in shadow, which only serves to create a sense of disquiet in Hermione's gut when he speaks again. "Whoever the fuck you _really_ are, I can promise that you won't be alive much longer, and you certainly will _never_ defeat the Dark Lord.

"We did once already, mate," Ron drawls, and the floorboards creak slightly under his weight as he strolls over to them. Ron folds his arms over his chest, and looks down on Severus with an almost pitying look. "We can do it again."

Severus's frown is back, and he is about to open his mouth when Harry beats him to it, "your patronus is a doe."

Hermione sees the palpable fear trickling into Severus's eyes, and swirling in and amongst the dark pools of hatred.

Panic. "I can't cast a patronus charm," Snape says, shaking his head in denial.

"Yes you can, and its corporeal form is a doe. I know because I've seen it," Harry says as he strolls over and settles in on Hermione's other side.

Ron makes a noise in the back of his throat. Harry swears at him in parseltongue—Snape frowns heavily at that—if Hermione could afford to rip her gaze from Snape she would glare darkly at the ginger. In her peripherals she sees Ron shrug.

They all know how Ron feels about Snape's patronus, and Snape's feelings for Lily.

"I cannot cast a patronus charm," Snape grits out.

Harry sighs, "I also know that you are the Half-Blood Prince."

"Who the fuck are you?" Snape asks, mouth agape, and for the first time since they arrived, he looks _afraid_.

Perhaps he should be.

"I told you already, my name is Harry James Potter. If you'd let me finish, I could have told you that I am the son of James and Lily Potter, and that I am from the future," Harry says with a cavalier shrug.

There is a thick pause, and then almost inaudibly, Snape says, "prove it."

"Do you have a pensieve? If not, we brought our own," Ron says, and his hand dives into his trouser pocket and retrieves a small, ovular disk. Snape shakes his head, no, he does not have the luxury of owning a pensieve.

Ron shrugs, turns on a side, and with a flick of his wrist the disk sails into the air, only to be halted by a motion of his wand in the centre of the room. A swish, a flourish, a muttered incantation, and the pensieve grows to its original size.

"If I remove my wand, do you promise to behave?" Hermione asks. Snape grunts. "Use your words."

"I suspect I don't have much choice, but yes, I will. I cannot guarantee what I'll do after you're finished with your little show and tell, but for now I give you my word that no harm shall befall you at my hand," Snape heaves out. It's better than she expected, and warily Hermione lowers her wand.

Without turning her back on Severus, she heads over to where Ron and Harry are already waiting on the circumference of the pensieve.

"You coming? We have a lot to show you," Hermione says firmly. Snape rubs at his neck, and with a sneer, and billowing robes he follows after her.

Hermione unstoppers the phial still held in her hand, and pours the wispy, silvery substance into the black, smooth surface of the pensieve. The surface ripples.

"After you," Hermione says with a smile, and Snape squints at her before complying—his face cautiously dipping into unreadable darkness of the pensieve—and heading into the unknown.

The golden trio swiftly follow after him: there's a crispness to the air around them, and a hefty fog that makes it terribly difficult to see anything.

"What exactly am I supposed to be seeing?" Snape asks, a few feet away on Hermione's right—his voice sounds far away; like he's submerged.

 _Suddenly they are on a hilltop, forlorn and cold in the darkness, the wind whistling through the branches of a few leafless trees._

 _Before they stands Snape, only a year or so older than the one that has accompanied them into this memory. Memory Snape is panting, turning on the spot, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, waiting for something or someone._

" _What is the meaning of this?" Severus asks, trudging over to the Memory version of himself, scrutinising him intensely._

" _You'll see," Harry says, standing back. The other two members of the golden trio have never been privy to these memories, they have only ever heard recollections of them from their third member. It had been more than difficult to select the memories they were to show this dimension's Severus Snape, and hopefully they'd chosen correctly; they tried their best to show the remorse and regret that plagued his other self for the path he had taken._

 _Memory Snape's fear infects them, even though they know that they will not be harmed, and they follow his line of sight._

 _A blinding, jagged jet of white light flies through the air, and Memory Snape drops to his knees, and his wand flies out of his hand._

" _Don't kill me!" Memory Snape exclaims._

" _That was not my intention."_

 _Albus Dumbledore stands before Memory Snape with his robes whipping around him, his face illuminated from below in the light cast by his wand._

" _How did you get this?" Severus asks, taking several steps back from the pair. He doesn't wish an answer, and Hermione doubts he would hear it regardless as he is enraptured by the scene unfolding before him._

" _Well, Severus? What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?"_

" _No—no message—I'm here on my own account!"_

 _Memory Snape is wringing his hands: he looks a little mad, with his straggling black hair flying around him and a desperation laced through his tone._

" _I—I come with a warning—no, a_ _ **request**_ — _please—"_

 _Dumbledore flicks his wand, and though leaves and branches still fly through the night air around them, there is now a leaden silence on the spot where he and Memory Snape are facing each other._

" _What request could a Death Eater make of me?"_

" _The—The prophecy…the prediction…Trelawney…"_

" _What prophecy," Severus whips around and demands of them, but the golden trio remain silent, intently bearing witness to the memory. He fiercely turns back to the memory._

" _Ah, yes," says Dumbledore. "How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?"_

 _Memory Snape shudders at the mention of Voldemort's name._

" _Everything—everything I heard!" says Snape. "That is why—it is for that reason—he thinks it means Lily Evans!"_

" _Potter," Harry corrects softly, whilst a soft, "what?" falls from Severus's lips as he takes a step towards Dumbledore and his other self._

" _The prophecy did not refer to a woman," says Dumbledore. "It spoke of a boy born at the end of July—"_

" _You know what I mean! He thinks it means_ _**her**_ _son, he is going to hunt her down—kill them all—"_

" _If she means so much to you," says Dumbledore, "surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?"_

" _I have—I have asked him—"_

 _For the first time since they entered the memory, Ron voices his opinion, rounding on Harry, "this is it, isn't it? This is why you refused to show us_ _**this**_ _. He was willing to let you and your Dad_ _ **die**_ _Harry, to save your Mum!"_

 _Harry sends Ron a harsh glare, "not now. Later. Watch."_

" _You disgust me," says Dumbledore, and never before had any of them heard such contempt in the older wizard's voice._

" _For once I agree wholeheartedly with the old codger," Ron growls. Harry shushes him again, and Hermione keeps her eye on the scene as she crosses over to Ron, and she tucks herself into his side. This is hard to watch._

 _Memory Snape seems to shrink back a little._

" _You do not care, then, about the death if her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?"_

 _Memory Snape says nothing, but merely looks up at Dumbledore._

" _Hide them all, then," he croaks. "Keep her—them—safe. Please."_

" _And what will you give me in return, Severus?"_

" _In—in return?" Snape gapes at Dumbledore, and after a long moment, he says, "anything."_

 _The hilltop fades._

"You're lying," Snape says with an acidic bite to his tone.

"Trust me, mate," Ron says with a bark of a laugh, "I fucking wish we were." Ron faces Harry. "That's why you never showed us. All that bollocks about him being a brave man, he tried to bargain your life away to evil itself, and only when it fucking backfired on him did he do the right thing."

"It wasn't that simple," Harry croaks.

"Mate, I love you, but in this regard, you're wrong. It _is_ that simple," Ron snarls. The ginger haired wizard firmly but not unkindly pries himself out of Hermione's embrace, and with righteous indignation he marches over to Snape. The two wizards are inches apart.

"You want to know what happened after that?" Ron asks quietly.

Snape stares up at Ron with steel wiring his jaw shut, and his chin is jutting upwards in a blatant show of defiance and fearlessness.

"She dies. Lily and James Potter die by the hand of Voldemort, because a fucking rat betrays them," Ron snaps. Snape flinches, and Hermione can tell that the outburst has made him uncomfortable.

"Ron," Hermione says warningly.

"Pettigrew…that—that's how the Order _knew_ ," Snape says, his eyes widening slightly. "No one aside from the Dark Lord knew who his informant inside of the Order was."

"Ron."

"No, Hermione. He needs to _know_ ," Ron booms, hands thrust out to the side. "We came _all_ this way after all. May as well tell him the _truth_."

Ron's hands fall limply to his sides, he's slightly bent at the middle so that he is almost nose to nose with Snape, and dangerously low he says, "the truth is that there were two boys that qualified to be the bloody chosen one, and if Voldemort chose the _other_ , Severus Snape would have been quite content to let him _die_."

"You don't know me," Severus spits, gruffly grabbing a hold of Ron's shirt, and Ron smiles darkly, "ah, I may not know _you_ specifically, but I know what you will become if you stay on your current path."

Snape shoves Ron backwards, "fuck you. I don't have to listen to this rubbish any longer. Your time is up."

"No, it's not," Ron shouts, plucking a phial from his pocket, unstoppering it, and with a wild flick of his wrist the silvery substance explodes into the air, a fog engulfs them, and the scene changes.

" _I told you your time is up, whoever the actual_ _ **fuck**_ _you are!" Snape shouts._

" _And I told you that it's not," Ron says in a scarily serene tone, and he points at the scene before them: a gathering of students all lined up at workbenches, dutifully attending to their cauldrons, and most of them are cutting up daisy roots._

" _Sir," a pale haired boy calls, drawing their attention his table, where he is accompanied by two short lads; one ginger, one raven haired. "Sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm—"_

" _Weasley, cut up Malfoy's roots for him," says a voice from the front of the room. Severus follows it, and is greeted by an older version of himself._

" _Is that…?" Severus asks, and Ron whispers, "yea,_ _ **this**_ _is the Severus Snape I grew up with."_

 _The much shorter ginger lad whose hair hung over his ears is glowering at the pale boy next to him, his face brick red. The boy seizes his knife, and if Hermione didn't know better, she would have sworn that Memory Ron would have tried to cut Memory Malfoy with it._

 _Memory Ron gruffly pulls Malfoy's roots towards him—there is an obvious tightness gripping the boy and pooling in his shoulders—and he begins to roughly chop the roots, so that they are all different sizes._

" _Professor," drawls Malfoy, "Weasley's mutilating my roots, sir."_

" _That is Lucius's son," Severus states to himself, and the only confirmation he receives is Harry subtly nodding his head._

 _Memory Snape approaches the table, and he looks much older than he really is—years of inner torment having ripped him up inside. "He was a fucking terror," Ron mutters to himself, and Severus pays him no mind._

 _Memory Snape stares down his hooked nose at the roots, then he gives Memory Ron an unpleasant smile from beneath his long, greasy black hair._

" _Change roots with Malfoy, Weasley."_

 _Memory Ron's chest puffs out, he throws his shoulders back, and his voice quivers with outrage, "But, sir—"_

" _I spent almost fifteen ruddy minutes carefully shredding those roots—I wanted to make sure they were in exactly equal pieces," Ron sighs._

" _That isn't important to the memory, Ronald," Hermione groans, and she looks about her, and suddenly she realises why Ron_ _ **really**_ _chose this memory._ _ **Fuck me**_ _, Hermione thinks,_ _ **there is no way he's helping us. We're going to have to obliviate him**_ _._

" _Now," says Memory Snape in his most dangerous voice._

 _Memory Ron reluctantly shoves his own beautifully cut roots across the table at Malfoy, then takes up his knife again. Sulking, he cows his head and tries to salvage the roughly butchered roots._

" _And, sir, I'll need this shrivelfig skinned," says Malfoy, his voice full of malicious laughter._

" _Potter, you can skin Malfoy's shrivelfig," says Memory Snape, giving Memory Harry the look of loathing he always reserved for him._

" _Mate. I don't care what he did to help us, do you see_ _ **that**_ _. He made us miserable, treated us like we were lesser than the dirt on the bottom of his shoe, but, oh, he was good in the end because he loved your Mother and 'protected' you," Ron explodes, shoulders rising and falling. Ron viciously turns on Snape, "I don't fucking care if you help us at this point, but promise me this,_ _ **don't**_ _become a miserable fucker who torments children."_

 _Snape recoils from Ron's wrath, putting some distance between them, "I am not him."_

" _You say that, but do you_ _ **mean**_ _it?" Ron asks, tilting his head to the side. "We're not finished, there's more yet for you to see. If you think treating an orphan who grew up in an abusive muggle household like scum, because he looks like your nemesis from school is bad, how about you take a_ _ **good**_ _look at how you treat_ _ **him**_ _." Ron's index finger is aimed at another student in the Potions classroom._

 _Hermione ignores the squabbling behind her as she advances over to a few cauldrons away, where Neville longbottom is in trouble._

 _Hermione hears a few muttered curses, and knows that Harry is attempting to calm Ron down, she understands why Ron is so furious. For all the good Snape did for the outcome of the Second Wizarding War, Ron is right, he did torment them as children._

 _ **That's why we need to show him that there's another way, that he doesn't have to end up like this**_ _, Hermione thinks._

" _Who is he?" A voice asks quietly beside her, but she doesn't tear her eyes off of Neville, her first friend at Hogwarts._

" _A kind, gentle soul…Severus Snape, meet Neville Longbottom…the other boy_ _ **the**_ _prophecy could have applied to," Hermione smiles softly, bending down slightly to get a better look at the blond, curly haired boy. She misses Neville something terrible._

" _Like Harry, the war robbed him of his parents," Hermione glances at Snape and takes note of the fact that he is intently listening to her, "Bellatrix Lestrange went a bit crazy and crucio'd Alice and Frank until their minds simply…broke."_

" _Bellatrix is certainly…a wild card," Severus concedes. "Are you sure he's Frank Longbottom's spawn?"_

" _Why?" Hermione queries, walking around to the side of the bench._

" _Frank Longbottom is…" Snape trails off, as if his words are failing him._

" _A tough lion? A brawny lad with a good head on him? An Auror?" Hermione chuckles softly, "he may not look like much now, but he is one of the bravest people I've ever known."_

" _Then why is he shaking like a leaf?" Snape sneers._

 _Hermione doesn't answer, she doesn't think she needs to as he is about to_ _ **see**_ _why._

" _Orange, Longbottom," says Memory Snape. He'd walked around to the front of the bench a few moments ago, and had immediately turned his nose up at Neville's potion as soon as he took note of its hue._

 _The wizard ladles some of Neville's potion up, and allows it to splash back into the cauldron so that everyone can see._

" _Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn't I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?"_

" _Potions is his worst subject, and it didn't help that he was deathly afraid of his Professor," Hermione murmurs, folding her arms over her chest, and a honey brown curl falls into her eyes._

 _Neville is pink and trembling. He looks as though he is on the verge of tears._

" _Please, sir," says Memory Hermione from beside Neville, "please, I could help Neville put it right—"_

" _I don't remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger," says Memory Snape coldly, and Memory Hermione goes as pink as Neville._

" _Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly."_

 _Memory Snape moves away with a disapproving curl of his lip, and leaves Neville breathless with fear._

" _Help me!" Neville moans to Hermione._

" _Your hair was much…bigger," Snape notes, gazing down at the younger Hermione as she mutters instructions to Neville—out of the corner of her mouth so that Memory Snape would not see._

" _That's all you have to say about that interaction?" Hermione asks with pursed lips._

" _No. How do I know that this isn't some fabricated reality? Also, what exactly does this_ _ **prophecy**_ _entail?" Snape drawls, thoroughly examining his surroundings, as if looking for a crease, a glitch, something that doesn't belong._

" _I suppose you don't, but as you are a Master Legilimens, I may let down some of my guards and show you more memories if that's what it takes," Hermione shrugs, and she narrows her eyes at Memory Hermione's rather long teeth._

 _It's horribly superficial, but she's glad she got Pomfrey to shrink them just a bit smaller than they were originally after she got hit by that hex._

" _Don't think I didn't notice that you didn't answer my second question, and that is a foolish offer to make," Severus says, dark eyes peering at her as if she is an equation he has to solve. "What could you possibly gain from that?"_

" _Your trust," Hermione smiles wanly, and Severus's lips part as if he is about to respond, but Memory Snape interrupts._

" _You should have finished adding your ingredients by now; this potion needs to stew before it can be drunk, so clear away while it simmers and then we'll test Longbottom's…"_

 _Crabbe and Goyle laugh openly, watching Neville sweat as he stirs his potion feverishly; Memory Hermione continues to guide him with muttered instructions._

 _Harry and Ron join them as the students tidy their stations, put away their tools and unused ingredients, and then wash their hands and ladles._

" _Sorry," Ron mutters, and Severus stares at him strangely before nodding; although there is a dark look about him._

" _You_ _ **aren't**_ _him. You're right. I don't know_ _ **you**_ _," Ron apologises, and the dark look slides from Snape's features—he clearly wasn't expecting such an earnest apology. However, one can plainly see that his defensive guard is still up._

 _Memory Snape strides over to Neville, who is cowering by his cauldron._

" _Everyone gather 'round," Memory Snape says, his black eyes glittering, "and watch what happens to Longbottom's toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don't doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned."_

 _The frightened energy exuding from the Gryffindors is staggering, but it is battling for attention with the Slytherins excited glee._

 _Memory Snape picks up Trevor the toad in his left hand, and dips a small spoon into Neville's potion—which is now green. He trickles a few drops down Trevor's throat._

 _There is a moment of hushed silence, in which Trevor gulps; there is a small pop, and Trevor the tadpole is wriggling in Memory Snape's palm._

 _The lions burst into applause. Memory Snape, looking rather sour, pulls a small bottle from them pocket of his robe, pours a few drops on top of Trevor, and he reappears suddenly, fully grown._

" _Five points from Gryffindor," says Snape, which wipes the smile from every face. "I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed."_

 _The memory fades, and Hermione is surprised when it melts into another._

" _So much for picking one, Ron," Hermione grumbles._

" _They're related. It all happened on the same day after all," Ron shrugs._

 _Hermione however, is not listening anymore as her full attention is gripped by an older wizard as he begins his lecture. Remus John Lupin._

 _He's dressed a bit shabbily—almost every inch of him is covered which is a contrast to_ _ **her**_ _Remus who loves to expose his torso—his hair is much longer, there is a scar on his left cheek that_ _ **her**_ _Remus doesn't have, and even though he looks quite tired, the man still holds a boyish charm._

 _She of course isn't in love with_ _ **this**_ _Remus—she never was—but she has missed the man. He was a kind mentor, and a right laugh._

" _We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please…_ _ **riddikulus**_ _!"_

" _Riddikulus!" said the class together._

" _Lupin is a Professor? How in Salazar's name did that happen?" Severus asks with thick disdain._

 _Hermione growls unwittingly—she can't help it—she is highly protective of_ _ **every**_ _iteration of Remus John that she knows; she can feel her mate bond warming in her chest._

 _Severus flinches, and takes a step back, "I take it he's a friend of yours?"_

 _Hermione faces the events unfolding before them once more, hands on her hips, brown eyes swirling with copper and her jaw is clenched._

 _Snape raises an eyebrow, but does not press the issue further._

" _Good," Professor Lupin says. "Very good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville."_

" _What exactly is going on here?" Severus asks._

 _Harry—who'd been silent for extended period of time—enlightens him. "For context, this was our first Defense Against the Dark Arts class in our third year. Lupin was teaching us how to deal with Boggarts, shapeshifters which represent—"_

"— _the thing you fear most in the world," Snape finishes._

 _The wardrobe in front of the students shakes again, though not as much as Neville, who walks forward as though he is heading for the gallows._

" _Right, Neville," says Professor Lupin. "First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?"_

" _His own shadow?" Snape snorts._

 _Neville's lips move, but no noise comes out._

" _Didn't catch that, Neville, sorry," Professor Lupin says cheerfully._

 _Neville looks around rather wildly, as if begging someone to help him, then says, in barely more than a whisper, "Professor Snape."_

 _Whilst nearly all of Neville's peers laughed, Severus intakes a sharp inhalation of breath, but otherwise he does not have any other outward reactions. Even Neville grins apologetically._

 _Professor Lupin is stroking the back of his fingers along the length of his jaw thoughtfully._

" _Professor Snape…hmmm…Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?"_

" _Er—yes," Neville confirms nervously. "But—I don't want the boggart to turn into her either."_

" _No, no, you misunderstand me," Professor Lupin says, now smiling. "I wonder, could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?"_

 _Neville looks startled, but says, "well…always the same hat. A tall one with a stuffed vulture on top. And a long dress…green, normally…and sometimes a fox-fur scarf."_

" _And a handbag?" prompts Professor Lupin._

" _A big red one," Neville answers._

" _Right then," says Professor Lupin. "Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind's eye?"_

" _Yes," says Neville uncertainly, plainly wondering what is coming next._

" _When the boggart burst out of this wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape," says Lupin. "And you will raise your wand—thus—and cry '_ _ **Riddikulus**_ '— _and concentrate hard on your grandmother's clothes. If all goes well, Professor boggart Snape will be forced into that vulture-topped hat, and that green dress, with that big red handbag."_

 _There is a great shout of laughter. The wardrobe wobbles more violently._

 _Severus looks more than a little uneasy: it cannot be easy realising that for someone else,_ _ **you**_ _are the big bad wolf,_ _ **you**_ _are the thing that goes bump in the night,_ _ **you**_ _are their worst fear._

" _If Neville is successful, the boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of us un turn," says Professor Lupin. "I would like all to you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical…"_

 _The room goes quiet. The teenagers are all contemplating on their greatest fears and what humorous thing they should picture in order to render them powerless._

 _Snape is focusing on a young Ronald Weasley, who is muttering to himself, "take its legs off."_

" _What are you banging on about?" Snape asks Ron, who shrugs. Snape raises at eyebrow at that, but before he can ask for more details, Professor Lupin speaks once more._

" _Everyone ready?" Says Professor Lupin._

" _Neville, we're going to back away," says Professor Lupin. "Let you have a clear field, all right? I'll call the next person forward."_

" _...Everyone back, now, so Neville can get a clear shot—"_

 _The quartet witnessing the memory move forward out of the way of the retreating students—whose backs are now against the walls. Neville is alone beside the wardrobe. He looks pale and frightened, but he had pushed up the sleeves of his robes and is holding his wand ready._

" _On the count of three, Neville," Professor Lupin says, his own wand pointing at the handle of the wardrobe._

" _One—two—three—now!" A jet of sparks shoots from the end of Professor Lupin's wand and hits the doorknob. The wardrobe bursts open. Hook-nosed and menacing, Professor Snape steps out, his eyes flashing at Neville._

 _Neville backs away, his wand up, mouthing wordlessly. Snape is bearing down upon him, reaching inside his robes._

" _ **R—r—riddikulus!**_ " _Neville squeaks._

 _There is a noise like a whip crack. Boggart Snape stumbles; he is wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, and he is swinging a huge, crimson handbag._

 _There is a roar of laughter; the boggart pauses, confused, and as Professor Lupin shouts, "Parvati! Forward!" the scene fades into vaporous tentacles that blow away into white nothingness._

Snape silence and his aversion to meeting any of their eyes is almost painful for some reason, and then, very quietly he asks, "anything else?"

"We can stop if you want," Harry suggests kindly, and Severus raises his head to peer at Harry with an unreadable expression.

"Ronald—" Severus glances at Ron for confirmation that he's gotten his name right, Ron nods, but frowns at the use of his full name, "—said ' _an orphan who grew up in an abusive muggle household_ ', he was referring to you I take it. What did he mean by that exactly?"

"That isn't important—" Ron begins, but Harry raises a hand, thus silencing his protective friend.

"After my parents died…Dumbledore took me to live with my Aunt, her husband and son," Harry says stiffly, and Hermione recognises the look in his eye as he thinks back to his childhood when all he knew about his parents was that they died in a 'car crash'.

Not for the first time Hermione contemplates a divine punishment to bestow upon the Dursleys for how they treated Harry when he was a child.

"He made you live with _Petunia_?" Snape frowns deeply, his contempt for the woman abundantly splayed across his features. "She fucking hates—"

"Wizarding kind?" Harry says with a breathy, curt laugh. "Yea, and her husband is no different."

Snape gathers his black robes about him, and with a small sigh asks, "how am I to believe any of this?" Snape glances at Ron, "your hostility to _**him**_ seems genuine, but you could be playing a part—well, I might add."

"What can I say? The Snape from our dimension made our lives hell in school, especially Harry's," Ron grunts.

"I think you need to clear that part up for me, you keep mentioning your dimension. You are not only claiming to be from the _future_ , but from an entirely different _dimension_?"

The dense white fog is swirling around them now, licking at their skin and clothes, and it has entirely engulfed their feets and stops just above their ankles.

"We didn't exactly elaborate on the details, did we?" Hermione winces. Their original plan went sideways, and they didn't really explain themselves that well, so she can understand where Snape's confusion is coming from.

"I'm Hermione Granger. This is Ron Weasley," Hermione pauses to gesture to Ron, who waves half-heartedly with a stiff smile, "and Harry already introduced himself to you."

Hermione takes a deep breath, and crosses over to Snape, ensuring that she is looking him directly in the eye as she says, "we're from the future in a different dimension, and we will do _anything_ it takes to make sure that the ones we care about don't die this time."

"What does that have to do with me?" Snape asks, "why risk coming to me knowing that I am a Death Eater, and that I may very well go and tell the Dark Lord everything I've seen today."

"The Severus Snape I knew was a cruel, miserable man, but he was crucial to ending the war and taking down Voldemort," Hermione starts, and cautiously she places her hand on his upper arm. "I thought you might say that…so that's why I thought we should show you a couple more things."

She waits, and Snape's dark eyes consume her, most likely trying to get a read on her true intentions. "Fine," passes through his lips.

"Harry," Hermione calls.

"You sure, Hermione?"

"I'm sure."

From behind her she hears a pop, and she knows Harry has opened their last phial. Hermione doesn't take her eyes off of Snape as the memory forms all around them. "It's not pleasant…"

"I can handle it," Snape says, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.

"I know," Hermione says as she steps back, and they are immersed in yet another memory.

 _They are surrounded by darkness, it is pressing in on them, they are in a tunnel, and voice can be heard coming from the room directly ahead of them; only slightly muffled by the fact that the opening at the end of the tunnel has been blocked up by what looks like an old crate._

 _The wix are crammed into the tunnel alongside the three younger memories, partially passing through them, and feeling as they do. Fear, uncertainty, and they all hardly dare to breathe._

 _Even in the darkness, they can somehow see the raven haired boy edge right up to the opening, and peer through a tiny gap left between the crate and wall. Then they are the boy._

 _The room beyond is dimly lit, but the boy can see the snake—Nagini—swirling and coiling like a serpent underwater, safe in her enchanted, starry sphere, which floats unsupported in midair._

" _What is the importance of the snake?" Severus hisses, and Hermione is removed from the boy's mind for a brief moment, long enough to place a hand on Snape's shoulder, "not now." They become the boy again._

 _ **He**_ _can see the edge of a table, and a long-fingered white hand toys with a wand. Then Memory Snape speaks, and the boy's heart lurches: Memory Snape is inches away from where_ _ **he**_ _is crouching, hidden._

"… _my Lord, their resistance is crumbling—"_

"— _and it is doing so without your help," says Voldemort in his high, clear voice. "Skilled wizard though you are, Severus, I do not think you will make much difference now. We are almost there…almost."_

" _Let me find the boy. Let me bring you, Potter. I know I can find him, my Lord. Please."_

 _Memory Snape strides past the gap, and the boy draws back a little, keeping his eyes fixed upon Nagini, wondering whether there is any spell that might penetrate the protection surrounding her, but he can not think of anything. One failed attempt, and he would give away his position._

 _What is the importance of the snake? Snape whispers in Hermione's mind, but she doesn't reply._

 _Voldemort stands up. The boy can see him now, see the red eyes, the flattened, serpentine face, the pallor of him gleaming slightly in the semidarkness._

" _I have a problem, Severus," says Voldemort softly._

" _My Lord?" says Memory Snape._

 _Voldemort raises the Elder Wand, holding it delicately and precisely as a conductor's baton._

 _The Elder Wand? Snape wonders, for what the boy knows in this moment, so does he. So it does exist. How did he obtain it?_

 _He nicked it from the grave of its previous owner, Ron thinks, and Snape chews on that information in silence. It is clear that there are some things they will not share with him; they must not fully trust him. Good, he wouldn't if he was them._

" _Why doesn't it work for me, Severus?"_

 _In the silence the boy imagines he can hear the snake hissing slightly as it coils and uncoils—or it it Voldemort's sibilant sigh lingering on the air?_

" _My—my Lord?" says Memory Snape blankly. "I do not understand. You—you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand."_

" _No," Voldemort says. "I have performed my usual magic. I am extraordinary, but this wand…no. It has not revealed the wonders it has promised. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured from Ollivander all those years ago."_

 _Voldemort's tone is musing, calm, but the boy's scar began to throb and pulse: pain is building in his forehead, and he can feel that controlled sense of fury building inside of Voldemort._

" _No difference," Voldemort says again._

 _Memory Snape does not speak. The boy cannot see his face: he wonders whether Snape senses danger, is trying to find the right words to reassure his master._

 _Voldemort starts to move around the room: the boy loses sight of him for seconds as he prowls, speaking in that same measured voice, while the pain and fury mounts in the boy._

" _I have thought long and hard, Severus…" Do you know why I have called you back from the battle?"_

 _And for a moment the boy sees Memory Snape's profile: his eyes are fixed upon the coiling snake in its enchanted cage._

" _No, my Lord, but I beg you will let me return. Let me find Potter."_

" _You sound like Lucius. Neither of you understands Potter as I do. He does not need finding. Potter will come to me. I know his weakness, you see, his one great flaw._

 _He will hate watching the others struck down around him, knowing that it is for him that it happens. He will want to stop it at any cost. He will come."_

" _But my Lord, he might be killed accidentally by one other than yourself—"_

" _My instructions to my Death Eaters have been perfectly clear. Capture Potter. Kill his friends—the more, the better—but do not kill him._

 _But it is of you that I wished to speak, Severus, not Harry Potter. You have been very valuable to me. Very valuable."_

" _My Lord knows I seek only to serve him. But—let me go and find the boy, my Lord. Let me bring him to you. I know I can—"_

" _I have told you, no!" Voldemort says, and the boy catches the glint of red in his eyes as he turns again, and the swishing of his cloak is like the slithering of a snake, and he_ _ **feels**_ _Voldemort's impatience in his burning scar._

" _My concern at the moment, Severus, is what will happen when I finally meet the boy!"_

" _My Lord, there can be no question, surely—?"_

"— _but there is a question, Severus. There is."_

 _Voldemort halts, and the boy can see him plainly again as he slides the Elder Wand through his white fingers, staring at Memory Snape._

" _I don't like this," Severus voices softly, more to himself than anyone else, but Harry still replies, "you shouldn't. Voldemort will do whatever it takes to achieve his goals, he doesn't care how loyal someone is…_ _ **everyone**_ _is expendable once their usefulness to him expires."_

" _Why did both the wands I have used fail when directed at Harry Potter?"_

" _I—I cannot answer that, my Lord."_

" _Can't you?"_

 _The stab of rages feels like a spike driven the boy's head: he forces his own fist into his mouth to stop himself from crying out in pain. He closes his eyes, and suddenly he_ _ **is**_ _Voldemort, looking into Snape's pale face._

" _What the fuck is happening?" Snape exclaims, and Harry's hand on his shoulder causes him to still. "It's a long story, but when Voldemort killed my Mother—she sacrificed herself to save me, and when he went to kill me, the killing curse rebounded and hit him. Short version, we ended up…connected."_

" _ **Connected**_ _?" Severus asks in horror, but Ron pokes his arm, and jerks his chin towards Voldemort, and they all resume watching events fixed in stone—in another dimension—transpire._

" _My wand of yew did everything of which I asked it, Severus, except to kill Harry Potter. Twice it failed. Ollivander told me under torture of the twin cores, told me to take another's wand. I did so, but Lucius's wand shattered upon meeting Potter's."_

" _I—I have no explanation, my Lord."_

 _Memory Snape is not looking at Voldemort now. His dark eyes are still fixed upon the coiling serpent in its protective sphere._

" _I sought a third wand, Severus. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore."_

" _Albus Dumbledore has the Elder wand?" Snape asks in surprise, but the Golden trio says nothing. Enraptured, Severus watches intently, torn between the fear that is palpable in the air, and his innate_ _ **need**_ _to know more._

 _Now Memory Snape looks at Voldemort, and Memory Snape's face is like a death mask. It is a marble white and so still that when he speaks, it is a shock to see that anyone lives behind the blank eyes._

" _My Lord—let me go to the boy—"_

" _All this long night, when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here," says Voldemort, his voice barely louder than a whisper, "wondering, wondering, why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be, refuses to perform as legend says it must perform for its rightful owner…and I think I have the answer."_

 _Memory Snape does not speak._

" _Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever man, after all, Severus. You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen."_

" _My Lord—"_

" _The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine."_

" _My Lord!" Memory Snape protests, raising his wand._

" _It cannot be any other way," says Voldemort. "I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last."_

 _And Voldemort swipes the air with the Elder Wand. It does nothing to Memory Snape, who for a split second seems to think he has been reprieved: But then Voldemort's intention becomes clear. The snake cage is rolling through the air, and before Snape can do anything more than yell, it encases him, head and shoulders, and Voldemort speaks in Parseltongue._

" _Kill."_

" _It still boggles the imagination that this is what he does to those he perceives to be loyal servants. Anyone that stands between him and power is a nuisance, a light that has to be extinguished," Ron whispers, and Severus stiffens._

 _There is a terrible scream. The boy sees Snape's face losing the little colour it has left; it whitens as his black eyes widen, as the snake's fangs pierce his neck, as he fails to push the enchanted cage off himself, as his knees give way and he falls to the floor._

" _I regret it," Voldemort says coldly._

 _He turns away; there is no sadness in him, no remorse. It is time to leave this shack and take charge, with a wand that will now do his full bidding. He points it at the starry cage holding the snake, which drifts upwards, off Snape, who falls sideways onto the floor, gushing from the wounds in his neck._

 _Voldemort sweeps from the room without a backward glance, and the great serpent floats after him in its protective sphere._

 _Back in the tunnel, in the boy's own mind, he opens his eyes: he has drawn blood biting down on his knuckles in an effort not to shout out, he winces at the stinging pain that comes as the grime mixes in with the crimson._

 _Now he is looking through the tiny crack between crate and wall, watching a foot in a black boot trembling on the floor._

" _Harry!" breathes Memory Hermione behind the boy, but he has already pointed his wand at the crate blocking his view. It lifts an inch into the air and drifts sideways silently. As quietly as he can, he pulls himself up into the room._

 _He does not know why he is doing it, why he is approaching the dying man: he does not know what he feels as he sees Memory Snape's white face, and fingers trying to staunch the bloody wound at his neck._

 _The boys takes off the Invisibility Cloak, and looks down upon the man he hates, whose widening black eyes find Memory Harry as he tries to speak. The boy bends over him, and Memory Snape seizes the front of his robes and pulls him close._

 _A terrible rasping, gurgling noise issues from Memory Snape's throat. "Take…it…take…it…"_

 _Something more than blood is leaking from Memory Snape. Silvery blue, neither gas nor liquid, it gushes from his mouth and his ears and his eyes, and the boy knows what it is, but does not know what to do—_

 _A flask, conjures from thin air, is thrust into his shaking hands by Memory Hermione. The boy lifts the silvery substance into it with his wand. When the flask is full to the brim, and Snape looks as though there is no blood left in him, his grip on the boy's robes slackens._

" _Look...at…me…" he whispers._

 _The green eyes find the black, but after a second, something in the depths of the dark pair seem to vanish, leaving them fixed, blank, and empty. The hand holding the boy thuds to try floor, and Memory Snape moves no more._

 _Once more the white fog creeps up on them, and without warning swallows them whole. They are once again surrounded by whiteness, but there is a depth to its expanse that was not there before._

There isn't much discussion, Severus reticently asks if they have more to show him, and with a curt nod, and a flick of Hermione's wand, they are once more plunged into another memory.

Dumbledore looks sickly, pale, weak, and so fragile that even the slightest breeze will sweep him away.

As the man speaks, informing Memory Snape that in order for Lord Voldemort to be defeated, Harry Potter must die; whilst the fragment of Voldemort's soul lives on in Harry, the Dark Lord cannot die.

Severus walks around the room, gazing upon Dumbledore with perplexion, and with an air of disbelief. As if he cannot believe the words that are leaving the old wizard's mouth.

Dumbledore's words seem far away, echoey almost.

" _So the boy…the boy must die?" Severus asks quite calmly._

" _And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential."_

 _Another long silence. Then Snape said, "I thought…all these years…that we were protecting him for her. For Lily."_

 _If Hermione didn't already have a gut full of resentment and ire directed at Albus Dumbledore, she certainly would now as she listens to him talk about Harry's death, and how he will have to sacrifice himself._

 _To his credit, Memory Snape looks horrified, as he should be._

" _You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?"_

" _Don't be shocked, Severus. How many men and women have you watched die?"_

" _Lately, only those whom I could not save," Memory Snape says, bitterness creeping into his tone. He stands up. "You have used me."_

" _He uses everyone," Ron growls, and Hermione's reassuring hand on his upper arm helps cool his head. Even though she wholly agrees with him, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore fancies himself the chess master, the one pulling the strings, but she won't let him sacrifice the ones she loves, not again._

" _Meaning?" Dumbledore asks._

" _I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter's son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter—"_

" _But this is touching, Severus," Dumbledore says seriously. "Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?"_

" _For him?" Memory Snape shouts. "_ _ **Expecto Patronum!**_ "

 _From the tip of his wand bursts a silver doe: she lands on the office floor, bounds once across the office—Severus instinctively takes several steps after the doe—and the doe soars out of the window._

 _Dumbledore watches her fly away, and as her silvery glow fades he turns back to Snape, and his eyes are full of tears._

" _After all this time?"_

" _Always," Memory Snape says._

 _Everything is frozen in place as Severus asks, "how old is he here?"_

 _Hermione does some quick math, "thirty-seven."_

 _Severus's hands fist at his sides, and he stares at the memory of his other self, as if willing it to look at him, to talk to him._

 _The quartet are yanked out of the memory without warning, and dunked directly into a blurry haze of colour._

 _Their surroundings sharpen, and the elder Snape is gripping a letter once penned by Lily Potter. The man's lips twist with emotion and he takes the page bearing Lily's signature, and her love, and tucks it inside his robes._

 _There is no hesitation as he then rips in two the photograph he is also holding, so that he keeps the part from which Lily laughs, and he throw the portion showing a happy James and gurgling Harry back onto the floor—it slips under the chest of drawers._

 _After that, the moment they emerge from a memory, they are plunged back in: Snape and Dumbledore's portrait discussing the Sword of Gryffindor, Nigellus Black aiding Memory Snape with the Hermione and Ron's location, "they are in the Forest of Dean!"_

 _The last memory is Lily and Severus as children, running down a hill and falling into a laughing bundle of joy._

Gasping desperately Severus rips his head from the pensieve, and he is rapidly followed by the golden trio. Hermione's hand is on her wand.

Severus's head swivels back and forth as he backs away from them, looking like a cornered wild animal as he demands, "what is the _bloody_ prophecy?"

"Prophecies don't always come to fruition, and as far as any of us know, it doesn't exist in this dimension, and there's a possibility that it never will—"

"WHAT is the prophecy?" Snape asks vociferously, his voice bouncing eagerly about the house and echoing down the narrow corridor several feet away, he raises his wand and stalks towards Hermione.

Ron and Harry raise theirs.

"It doesn't matter," Hermione says wisely. "It doesn't matter, because the _real_ threat does exist in this dimension. Voldemort _does_ exist, and if we don't do something, the war will cause far too much grief and pain. Too many will die, too many will suffer."

"Why did you come here? Why did you show me _any_ of this?" Snape asks not for the first time.

"We thought that maybe, you deserved a chance at happiness this time," Hermione says truthfully. "The Severus Snape I grew up with was twisted with bitterness, filled with resentment, and broken. We thought that perhaps we could give you the chance to help us stop the war, and a chance to not become him."

Ron steps forward, lowering his wand and he holds his hands out to the side in surrender, "I'm sorry I laid into you. You _aren't_ him." Ron meets Severus's eyes, "and I really, _really_ hope that you _don't_ become him."

Harry also lowers his wand, and Snape's lip curls, his head tilts in disbelief, and black meets vibrant green, "I'm not Dumbledore, nor am I Voldemort. I won't ask you to lay down your life, all I want is to ask, when you picture your future, what does it look like? Are you free? Are you still serving the Dark Lord?"

"I—I…" Severus trails off, grimacing, and thick contemplation is present on his features. "How do I know that you didn't fabricate all of this, that this is some play by the Order to get me to switch sides?"

Ron strides forward, stopping right next to Severus, and hesitantly he puts a hand on his shoulder, "I think you already know the answer to that. You can believe us or not, mate. All we ask is that you take what we showed you into consideration in the future."

The pale light in the room is captured in Ron's electric blue eyes. Severus glances between the three wix, not lingering on any one of them for too long.

Hermione hopes that they are making the right decision in going for a more indirect approach—they knew commanding Snape do anything would not end in their favour, on the contrary it would most likely blow up in their faces. Thus they decided to give him a choice, even whilst knowing it can still end badly for them, but then they won't have forced his hand.

The golden trio does not utter a word further (Ron shrinks the pensieve, and tucks it and the phials into his pockets), and they keep an eye on him as they leave Lilium Cottage, ensuring to gently close the door behind them.

The trio leave Severus Snape to contemplate everything he'd just seen, and to ponder on how if they are telling the truth, several things begin to fit into place and make sense. Things like Regulus Black changing sides.

" _You_ _ **defected**_ _?" Severus queries lowly, the thought had obviously occurred to him, but until that moment he hadn't entertained the idea that it was_ true _ **.**_

 _Regulus taps his finger against the chair's arm, pursing his lips before carefully replying, "not exactly."_

On the outskirts of the property, back on the small hill, Hermione Granger hugs herself and stares back down at the cottage. An arm wraps around the witch's waist, and she sags back against the lean body of its owner.

"Do you think he'll defect?" The boy with the lightning scar asks softly, and simultaneously the ginger haired boy drops his head onto Harry's shoulder.

"I don't know," Hermione admits, wondering not for the first time if they've just made a grave error in judgement. "Only time will tell."


End file.
